FICLET 4: ESCALATION

Yuè, in the year and a half they'd known each other, had never watched her battle.

To her credit, Natsume had never been hurt by his reluctance. She'd guessed that his past experiences with pokémon battles had been unpleasant; that she'd found him with blood on his paws had only strengthened her suspicions. On that very first night, though, she'd firmly established the importance of her League career, both to her academy (to promote and fund it) and to her personally (since it was a family tradition). She'd insisted that he would never have to go anywhere near the Gym, unless he wished to; that she treated her pokémon very well; and that she made sure her trainers did the same. She'd even made a point to outline some of her duties as a Gym Leader – among which included reporting cases of suspected pokémon abuse. By the end of the lecture, he'd known this was not a subject he could argue with her. She would never budge, even if he decided to shout and make his disapproval of the practice abundantly clear.

He'd grudgingly agreed to disagree with her, and they had moved on to other, less volatile subjects.

Yet over the following months, he'd gradually and reluctantly learned more about the League – and had discovered that his experiences didn't align with the League norm. Initially, he'd assumed that meant that the League was spreading misinformation about their practices to justify their cruelty to the public…but then certain events had happened that had shifted his thinking. The League as a whole was not corrupt – but certain members of it were, and his former master had been among those bad apples. So Yuè, after much consideration, had made a tentative peace with the idea of Natsume being a Gym Leader. He'd even begun to consider going to her Gym to spar with her. He didn't want his skills to atrophy, after all – not when he'd bled to learn them.

He had no intention of fighting with her tonight, however. No, their plan was to go out to eat and celebrate him earning his degree. It was only an outing between friends, he'd reminded himself. It was absolutely not a date, regardless of the suggestive comments her mother had made and the glares her father had sent his way. Yet even so, he'd dressed in his nicest clothes and had entered the Gym, deciding to make the gesture of picking her up.

Which is what had led him here: to standing on the sidelines, watching her battle her last opponent of the night. The roars of the psychic energy blasts and the shrieks of the challenger's pokémon had echoed oddly in his ears. His skin had felt cold and clammy beneath his clothes, his stomach had churned, and his fingernails had dug into his palms. He'd vaguely noted that Natsume and Yasu were defeating their opponent with ease. He might have taken pride in their combined skills – he certainly, on some distant level, appreciated the skin-tight, leather suit Natsume was wearing – but any good feeling he'd had, however small, evaporated when his gaze had settled on her hip. He'd gritted his teeth and felt his thoughts collapsing in on themselves, the sting of memory flaring across his back, and the suspicion he'd felt for her once – thought buried months past – reared up, ugly and angry and hurting as he wondered if she'd lied about her nature all along.

The thought that she wasn't who he'd thought she was was more wounding than he knew it should be. After all, he knew better than to think that any humans were good. Only Ai had been good – and Ai had never grown up. That was the kind of world he was living in. He knew that. But for a while he'd…he'd hoped that Natsume was…!

She followed the trainer out of the arena, closed up the Gym, and then teleported back to him. She walked up to him with a surprised and pleased (how dare she be pleased with herself) smile on her face as she said, "You braved the Gym to come pick me up? I'm touched. Just give me a few minutes to freshen up and then we can go…eat…." She must have sensed his anger then, because her smile faded and concern filled her face. "Yuè, is something wrong? You're shaking."

So he was. He couldn't seem to stop himself. "Do you use it often?" he asked, his voice low and edged with a snarl.

She blinked at him, clearly not understanding what he was referring to (of course she wouldn't, she'd never been on the other side of it), but took a step back at his tone. "Use what often?"

"That whip of yours."

Her eyes widened as comprehension sank in. She rested a hand on the damnable thing and shook her head. "Yuè, no. This does not mean what you think it means! This is nothing. I've never-"

Lies. She is lying. She must be lying. They all lie. "Oh? You have never given your pokémon a taste of the lash? You have never used it when he fails to carry out a command? You have never used it to drive him on, even when he's about to collapse?" His voice grew louder and harsher as he went on, his vision going red and his blood boiling. Before he realized what he was doing, he'd telekinetically snatched the whip from her, with the weapon settling into his own, raised hand.

"No. No. Listen to me!" She, too, was shaking, but despite her wary glance at the raised whip, she stepped closer to him."I would never hurt Yasu! Not by using that or by any other means! You know that! You know I wouldn't hurt anyone else, either, so please, calm-"

"Perhaps I do not know you as well as I thought! Perhaps you would hurt Yasu, or me, or someone else, if given the proper provocation!" And she'd always been called such a gentle woman by others. He'd thought so himself – and once again, he'd been played the fool. "Why else would you carry this thing at your side, unless you intended to use it?" he spat, certain down to his marrow that she couldn't refute that.

"Because it was a gift! Because it goes with the outfit! Because it unsettles the trainers! Ask Yasu – ask anyone! I have never used it – not once! I would probably hurt myself if I tried," she shouted, pressing a hand to her breast.

Their auras had flared around them while they were arguing, and somehow, somehow, through the haze of his fury and grief, the sincerity of her words reached him. Bewilderment followed. He blurted out a flat, "What," not understanding what she'd just said.

She huffed out a frustrated breath. "I got that," she said, pointing at the whip, "from my mentor. After being selected by the former Gym Leader, Gym Leader applicants have to spend a year shadowing one of the Elite Four. When they think their applicants are ready, they have them undergo a special test. If they pass, their license is approved. It's a tradition to receive a gift from them afterwards. Ibuki of the Dragon Clan was my mentor. She was standing in for Wataru. She – she likes leather and whips! She thought it was funny to give me that!"

What? What? "That – that–" he shouted "–that is ridiculous!"

But as ridiculous as it sounded, it still made much more sense than what he'd been accusing her of.

The thought snapped him back to his senses. He stared at her, his thoughts beginning to reorganize themselves into something resembling coherence. If what she said was true, then she was still Natsume. She was still the Natsume who never hurt people. She was still the Natsume was who good and kind and treated pokémon with respect, no matter how ugly and feral they seemed. She would never hurt Yasu – and she would never hurt him. She was Natsume. How could he have thought that she…?

As his mouth went dry, his palms sweated, and he felt like he was going to be sick, she took a step towards him and said, "It's the truth."

And in that moment, something changed. He looked at the whip in his hand. He looked past it at her. Her face was flushed, her chest was heaving, and that leather suit showed off her form sinfully well. The headiness he was feeling from the rush of anger abruptly shifted into something else. Blood rushed downwards even as his heart rate picked up. She looks gorgeous like that, all riled up. And she was still Natsume – his Natsume – and that thought made some restraint in him snap. To hell with the consequences, he thought as he threw the whip to the ground like a gauntlet. To hell with propriety, he thought as he lunged at her and murmured a low, "Good." To hell with everything but her, he thought as he did what he'd imagined doing for months.

He kissed her. He kissed her somewhat awkwardly, because he'd never kissed someone before, but it was good and fierce and she tasted sweet, like some fruit he'd never tried before. He drew her against him and felt her stiffen with surprise, but then her arms wrapped around his neck and she held on. She made a quiet, pleased noise against his mouth as she kissed him back.

She kissed him back.

He hadn't honestly thought that she would. He'd expected her to push him away, and he would have stopped if she had. But her reciprocation made him press on, because he'd wanted this for so long. He'd wanted her for so long. He'd imagined this so many times – and now that it was happening, he didn't want it to stop. He cradled the back of her neck and threaded his fingers through her hair. So very soft; so very warm. He felt her fingernails digging into the fabric of his shirt and prickling against his shoulders. Between breaths and kisses he started fumbling with the buttons of her leather jacket, getting two through and glimpsing the black undershirt beneath. He kissed down her jaw, her neck, listening to her gasp as he grabbed her hips and ground his to hers. Damn, damn, damn – he was being too forceful, he was moving this too fast – but she didn't push him away. In fact, she was pulling the hem of his shirt from his pants and sliding her hands up his stomach. Fuck.

"Yuè," she moaned into his ear, her hands rising to his chest, "Yuè."

He answered her by undoing the remaining buttons of her jacket and helping her shuck it off. He stroked up her sides, feeling her through the undershirt, and he wasn't sure whether her nipples hardened at the sudden cold or at his sudden touch. She, in turn, helped him tug off his shirt and nipped at his collarbone. He ran his knuckles down her spine and kneaded into her backside. She helped him undo her belt and fumbled at his. Soon they were tugging the rest of their clothes off in a reckless, eager, fever-haze, and relishing the feeling of skin on skin. He pressed her back against the nearest wall, caressing up her thighs and between them. She arched into his hand with a sharp, desperate cry, her flesh hot and slick to the touch. Her fingers raked through his hair as she kissed him, tongue and all, and at some point in his explorations he felt her shuddering against his fingers. She gasped and went rigid in his arms, her eyes flying open to stare at him – and then she made a soft "oh" and slid down the wall. He followed her, wrapping an arm beneath her back to support her.

There was a pause, and then she was kissing and touching him again, her hands sliding lower and lower until she was fondling him between his legs. He moaned – her hands felt nothing like his own had, all the times he'd imagined her doing just this. Her hands were gentle but so, so tantalizing and he had to make her stop or he'd finish far too soon. He pushed her hands up and away, kissing her down her front and trying not to come undone at the very thought of doing more with her.

At some point amidst all the groping and moaning and kissing, he confessed to her, "I need you." He sucked at one of her breasts, feeling her legs brush against his, feeling her fingernails on his neck, and feeling as much as hearing her whisper-gasp back, "Then take me," her voice hot and defiant and low with lust.

She let her legs fall open at his touch and complied when he lifted her hips. She guided him when he asked her to – but before he could move forward, a sudden, horrifying thought struck him, like ice water being dumped across his back. For Natsume was a shrine maiden – and shrine maidens were virgins consecrated by the gods. If they did this, then she couldn't – she loved being a – but then she pressed a kiss to his shoulder and murmured, "Don't stop. Please don't stop, Yuè."

And even if he'd wanted to, he couldn't have brought himself to hesitate after that. She was certain and she wanted him. She wanted him. So he pushed into her, gasping at the hot, wet feeling of her and the pleasure that accompanied it. He met some slight resistance, saw discomfort flicker over her face, but then she gritted her teeth and squeezed him closer with her legs. He complied – he thrust harder – and the resistance gave. She cried out, her fingernails scraping down his back, but then he was all the way in her and damn, damn did she feel better than he'd ever imagined. At her prompting, he began to move – and after a few more thrusts, she began rocking her hips against his, making little moans as they found their rhythm. He distantly heard himself groaning as they moved together – he probably cried out her name more than once – but it was pleasurable in a way he'd never experienced before, and each moment seemed to last twice as long thanks to the novelty of it.

There was, of course, some pain to it too. Her nails and teeth were going to leave marks on him, but that scarcely mattered. Her body also wasn't used to this, which mattered rather more, but she was clinging to his pleasure psychically and that served them both well enough. The ecstasy of it built and built until finally, finally, he couldn't hold back anymore. He clutched Natsume to him hard, probably hard enough to leave bruises on her hips, and spent himself. And then it was over. He sank against her with a sigh and she held on to him, her fingers trailing down his spine.

They talked a little afterwards, lying there covered in sweat and soil dust and smelling strongly of sex. But at some point, they had to get up. They gathered their clothes and headed to the locker room to wash up. Natsume retrieved her bathing supplies and a change of clothes from her locker. She gave him a sympathetic look – he didn't have anything fresh to change into. He didn't mind – his clothes were not that dirty – and after a moment's hesitation, he joined her in one of the showers. It was a small space, so they arranged themselves as comfortably as they could. As Natsume took a washcloth and began soaping up, he watched her, noticing the blush on her cheeks and admiring the view.

In the rush from arguing through making love, he hadn't paused to consider the intimacy of the act they'd shared. He'd been audacious, abandoning himself in that haze of heat and need with her. And now, despite having kissed and explored her damned near everywhere, he wasn't certain what to do. It was one thing to touch her in the midst of passion; it was quite another to do so here. But he wanted to – by all her gods, he wanted to. So he reached out, taking the washcloth from her hand tentatively, and asked, "May I?" She stared at him for a moment, but then nodded and closed her eyes. He spent the next several minutes running the soapy cloth over her skin, gently wiping the sweat and dust and other impurities away. She sighed when he washed her back and pressed a kiss to her shoulder.

He noted, with some concern, the blood on the cloth as he knelt and wiped down her legs. She seemed to sense that, because she gestured for him to stand, gave him a reassuring look, and said over the spray, "Let me." She leaned against the shower stall wall as she ran the cloth between her legs, grimacing and biting her lower lip in discomfort. But then it was done, and he turned his attention to her hair, kneading shampoo into it thoroughly. She rinsed off afterwards, the suds swirling at their feet.

Then it was his turn. Her touches felt different through the fresh but equally soapy cloth, but they were pleasant in their own way. He winced whenever the soap stung in the cuts she'd left him with, but shook his head when she apologized. "There is no need for that. I will heal." He'd had worse wounds in the past, besides. These were nothing. Eventually he knelt and closed his eyes while she rubbed shampoo into his hair. He pressed a kiss to her thigh as her fingers raked over his scalp. This felt nice – so, so nice, satisfying a craving he hadn't known he had. As he rinsed off, he wondered if it would be possible to do this more often. While sex was definitely something he wanted to have with her again, washing one another touched him in another way. It was a tender act, and wanting to convey that to her, he drew her under the water and kissed her gently. She kissed him back, but her kiss was somewhat awkward. She was smiling too hard.

They dried off shortly afterwards, trading glances and small smiles as they dressed. When they emerged back into the arena, Natsume paused and released a strong, psychic energy pulse through the room. At his questioning look, she said, "I would rather not have anyone know what we did here. That is our business, not theirs."

So she was washing their residual auras from the room. That made sense enough. Yet even so, as they left the Gym and began walking down the road to their homes – they'd missed their reservation by now – doubt niggled at him. "You are not ashamed of what we did, are you?" he finally asked.

She took his hand and squeezed it. "Of course not. I'm glad we shared that."

"…What does this mean for us?" He needed to know. She said that she was happy this happened – she'd said that this was all she needed – but where exactly did they go from here?

She stopped walking and turned towards him, taking his other hand into hers as well. She smiled up at him, slightly shyly, and said, "It means that we're together now, if you want us to be. It means you can touch me, or hold me, or kiss me whenever you like. It means you can come home with me and spend the night whenever you wish. And I, in turn, can do the same. Does that sound agreeable to you?"

His heart raced at the idea. He shifted their hands, squeezing hers back, and said, "Yes, that sounds – very agreeable. Would it be too forward of me to stay with you tonight?" He didn't want to go back to his empty cottage. In the upcoming nights, perhaps he'd feel comfortable doing so, but tonight – tonight he wanted to be close to her. He wanted to share in the aftermath of this with her. He didn't know if he could even get to sleep without her near him….

Her eyes danced as she said, "I would be rather put out if you didn't. Besides, my bed is bigger than yours." There was a promise in her words, which she sealed with a kiss under the streetlight. He could get used to this – though he wondered if he ever really could, after one thousand more kisses….

So they went back to her home, hand-in-hand. They ordered out, wolfed down their food and washed it down with tea, and went upstairs. She was nervous as she changed into a nightgown – he could see her trembling, ever so slightly, as he stripped down to his boxers. As they slipped under the covers, he gathered her into his arms and whispered, "We could just sleep." She was still sore from earlier; he was certain of that. He didn't want to make it any worse. They could wait. He was in no hurry.

She relaxed against him. "I think I would prefer that, for now."

"Then that's how it will be," he said, running a hand down her arm. "We have time on our side."

"Mmm. That and more." She cuddled closer to him and, after a breath, asked, "You'll be here in the morning?"

He kissed her forehead, smelling the scent of the shampoo they'd both used in her hair. "Yes. I do not intend to go anywhere."

"Good," she whispered, weaving her arms around his waist. "That's good."

She drifted off before he did. He spent a while – he did not know how long – watching her sleep and wondering at the choice she'd made. She'd chosen to give up being a shrine maiden to be with him. She'd chosen him. For that and more, he would strive to deserve her, to be worthy of her affections and – if he dared suggest it, even to himself – her love. Whatever might happen next, he looked forward to seeing where their choices tonight would lead them. He fell asleep with a smile on his face, not quite knowing how something as hateful as a whip could have led to this, but thankful that it had.