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Piers doesn’t know much about what happened on top of Hammerlocke Stadium during the Darkest Day, and honestly? He can’t say that he minds.
His main concern that night had been Marnie and Spikemuth, and those concerns nipped at his heels incessantly, no matter how many dynamaxed pokemon he downed with Leon’s little brother, Victor and whichever poor Gym Leader had their gym overrun by some scared and confused dynamaxed pokemon. Despite his hate of dynamaxing, or maybe because of it, he helped out that night for his own selfish purposes, brain flooded with the instinctive desire to keep his baby sister and his hometown safe from the very thing that gutted them under Rose’s capitalist vision for Galar.
So, he never asked Victor about the Darkest Night, finding it disingenuous to ask for the gritty details he doesn’t care for. He only thought to ask after the kid, wondering if he was okay after everything that happened, unable to fathom how something so terrifying might affect someone so young. Piers accepted the quiet ‘yes’ he received in turn.
Still, no matter how much he tries to soothe himself and put some trust in the kid, telling himself that Victor’s tougher than the next. However, there’s always a heavy doubt tugging at the pit of his stomach, dragging him lower and lower until Piers was sure he would sink into the ground to be swallowed whole. It never stopped either, no matter how many times Piers would pester Marnie to invite her friend over to keep as close a watch on him as he could.
Even retired, he’d turn on the television if there was an exhibition match that featured Galar’s new, young champion that week, just to see the difference that his gut insisted was there. And as much as he hates to think Victor might have lied to him that night, Piers would be a fool if he ignored the small changes in the young boy.
First things first, it was impossible to miss how voracious he had become since that night. Sure, Victor was a teenage boy and had the appetite that came with the territory, but it’s been rather ridiculous from the few times Piers had seen him. It’s uncommon these days to see the kid without some kind of sweet or protein bar, anything quick to eat during his busy life, in his hand or already stuffed in his mouth. There’s always the chance there will be something strange and wholly unappetizing in Victor’s hand as well. The last concoction Marnie casually informed him of was a spiced peanut butter and boiled egg sandwich.
When he had a chance to ask Victor about it, all the champion had to say was, “The flavors were good,” as if a burning curiosity was snuffed out once he had the combination.
Again though, Piers had been able to brush it all off as symptoms of puberty. As for the boy’s interesting food combinations, Piers figures that he and Raihan and Leon did some odd things in their teen years, be it from dares or a dumb thought lingering at the back of their under developed brains.
Whatever, he’d thought. Teens are teens. Marnie’s dealin’ with it too, I suppose…
It didn’t stop after his increased appetite, though. Victor had become more quiet, if Piers had to call it something. He’d never been a talkative kid, seeming more like the sensitive, introspective type compared to Leon’s brother or his twin sister, Gloria, and there was nothing wrong with that in Piers’ eyes. He’s biased though, since he raised up a girl like Marnie. Don’t get much quieter than her, really.
However, Victor wasn’t totally out of touch with other people, or the kind of ditz that he’d become in the past few weeks. It was easier to catch him off guard now, always quick to startle if someone so much as uttered his name.
“Ah, just thinking, I guess.” Is what he always said when anyone asked after him, wondering just what’s got his head so high up in the clouds.
“You’ve been doin’ a lot of that these days.” Piers told him one afternoon in Wyndon’s locker room as they sat together after their match. He was only there because Victor requested that he be his opponent in another tournament, and like the lovesick nonce he is, he agreed within the hour that the request had been sent to him. He still had a reputation to keep up, even if he was already breaking his ‘no encores’ rule for the kid.
Victor only laughed at Piers’ concerns.
Even when there was something definitely off about Victor, he was still able to give him a heart-pounding match. It felt as if those dark eyes of his were sparking matches off of Piers’ spine, leaving his skin raw and sensitive against the familiar leather of his jacket as Victor’s unyielding gaze stayed fixed on him the whole time. It had been years since anyone made Piers feel like that during a battle, since an opponent managed to cut him to the quick, leaving him feeling exposed and vulnerable. The closest anyone ever got was Raihan, but even then Raihan was no stranger in the way Victor made himself to be on the pitch. It was as if he slipped into a mask for their match, turned himself into someone new and foreign to him, cold and untouchable with his overwhelming talent for battling.
Piers would never tell anyone, but at some point, somewhere, between the stinging twinge in his throat from barking orders to his team and pouring his heart out of his mouth, all to give his very best to Victor and no one else, he swore he saw the champion’s eyes gleam red in the sunbeams.
Tonight, it is as wild as it gets these days in Spikemuth. With Marnie in charge and running a tighter ship than her older brother ever cared to do, there isn’t as much time for rockin’ and partying all night like there used to be. He misses it, of course. Misses the electric feel bouncing through the stuffy, oppressive air of the town, livening up the darkest and deepest corners of the boxed in city.
But today, Piers is onstage, back in his old skin and playing a familiar riff on his guitar while he narrates the practice bout between Victor and Marnie, each teen vying to get stronger with each passing day. Again, a fire is present within Victor and it’s hot enough to spill out of his seams and flood the moist, dank air of Spikemuth with an unseasonal heat. The air on the pitch feels like a sauna by the time Victor’s Inteleon knocks out Morpeko. Sweat traces Piers’ jawline as he announces Victor as the winner of the match, his voice pulling Victor’s eyes past Marnie and squarely on him.
They’re red again, and for much longer this time.
It’s Marnie mentioning the time that breaks the eye contact between him and Victor, and it seems to be what makes his eyes go back to brown as well. Even though he can see it, Piers can imagine how dark it is outside of Spikemuth and the stars shining above Galar once he overhears Marnie telling the time to Victor. He can’t imagine the wait for a taxi at this hour, especially since Spikemuth tends to be a bit of a dead zone for calling for them and he’s not so cruel as to expect Victor to fly all the way back to Postwick in the dead of night.
Knowing how much of a softie her big brother is, it doesn’t surprise Piers when she asks if Victor can just spend the night with them. He gives a nonchalant shrug as he unplugs his guitar and turns to start packing up the equipment he used for their battle.
He also can’t turn down the chance to have Victor so close, even if there is a world of distance between them. Just the thought of them existing under the same leaky roof of his apartment excites Piers. But Marnie doesn’t need to know that part.
All in all, it’s a typical night in. Piers orders pizza once he’s finished packing and they pick it up on the way back to their cozy apartment. He has to swat the kids’ hands away from the bax a few times, both of them complaining about how starving they are the whole five minute walk back. It’s a familiar ebb and flow once they’re all in the apartment, Marnie plucks the pizza box from his hands and hurries off to the kitchen with Victor close behind her as he grabs enough paper plates for all of them and Marnie is gracious enough to plate all of them two slices to begin with before she and Victor settle onto the couch and tear into the greasy, cheesy goodness.
Of course, they can’t get through a meal without Victor practically drowning his slice in ranch, insisting that it tastes good when he is met with a pair of skeptical looks from both Marnie and Piers.
“Whatever you say,” Marnie mumbles under her breath as she picks the pepperonis off of her slice, passing them off to Morpeko. Piers huffs a laugh through his nose as Victor continues to try and defend his tastes in condiments for his pizza.
“Do you hear yourself?” She asks, voice incredulous even if her face goes unchanged. “Pizza doesn’t need a condiment, ya dummy.”
Piers ignores the teens’ bickering as he flips through the channels on the television, slowly making his way through his dinner. He tries to convince himself that tonight is nice and normal, a buoy of domesticity in the choppy waves of life, a moment to slow down when it seems like everyone has been on overdrive since the Darkest Day and the empire Rose built fell to shambles.
Nothing is ever so simple in life, but Piers makes himself believe that maybe it is this time despite everything screaming it won’t be.
Piers is only out of bed because he has to take a leak and is wholly focused on making it to the bathroom without pissing himself that he completely ignores the feeling in his stomach telling him that something is wrong. He only recognizes how dark and eerie the atmosphere in the apartment is when he steps out of the bathroom, water still dripping from his hands when he hears quiet whispering, then doesn’t hear it again. Victor should be the only one in the living room after Marnie and Piers helped him set up the pull out couch for the night.
He tries to tell himself that Marnie snuck out of her room to hang out with her friend, that they’re just being rebellious teens, but his hopes are dashed as the whispering starts up once more. There is only one voice speaking, but there is an echo of itself as the words bounce against the walls and drift down the hall for Piers to hear.
Don’t get involved… don’t get involved. Is what Piers tells himself as he steps forward through the hallway, careful not to step on any creaky floorboards below as he inches his way closer to the living room. Green eyes peer into the room, quickly finding Victor as his eyes adjust to the darkness. He’s sitting up on the mattress, his blankets tossed away and pillow missing from the head of the bed and surely somewhere on the floor, forgotten as he continues to mumble to himself, hunched over slightly.
Poor kid, Piers thinks. Must’ve had a nightmare. That’s what any concerned adult would think looking at the state the kid has whipped himself up into. Not to mention, how much stress the teen must be experiencing as the new champion, the person to end an era and now expected to start one of his own. Even if Leon works tirelessly to keep the paparazzi away from the League’s youngest and newest members, there’s only so much he can do.
“Victor,” Piers calls out, stepping out into the living room. He watches as the boy’s shoulders shoot up to his ears and he whips around, fast enough for his arm to shoot out to steady himself against the arm of the couch. Piers walks forward, nerves be damned, and tosses the blanket further across the bed as he takes a seat next to Victor.
“Did’ja have a bad dream?” Piers asks, placing a sympathetic hand on Victor’s bony shoulder. “C’mon, you can tell me whatever’s knockin’ around in that head of yours.”
Victor looks up at the older man, his doe eyes dark and stormy, conflicted about whatever is being tossed about in his brain. Those dark eyes flicker down to the floor beneath them and Piers takes the chance to look at Victor’s mouth, his bottom lip currently being chewed at by stark white teeth, a canine threatening to break the thin, abused skin. There’s a split second thought of how badly Piers wishes that was him worrying at that plump lip of Victor’s with his own teeth, which is immediately followed up by a hot rush of shame as his ears begin to burn at the thought.
He’s snapped out of his shame by a sudden weight on his knee, thin and delicate fingers curling around the outline of bone, settling into the dips and curves the singer’s pale skin stretches over. Lightning strikes under his skin, running far enough to warm his belly as Victor gently squeezes his knee, his hand burning hot against him.
He can see Victor shake his head, but his hand does not move an inch. Before Piers can speak, there’s a voice filling the small space between them. “This is what you want, is it not?”
It sounds like Victor, just enough that a passerby wouldn’t question why a teen sounds like this, but Piers can make it out, his ears sensitive enough to make out a second voice speaking parallel to Victor. Something deep and strange, it can barely be described as human and immediately Piers knows this has something to do with what happened in Hammerlocke that night, everything does.
He should have told someone. Looking back, it doesn’t matter if no one would have listened to him, just to relieve himself of the weight of such suspicion would have helped. Knowing that someone else might have been alerted to the oddities bouncing around Victor’s head would have been enough.
He should have put the pieces together sooner, should have realized that something other than Victor’s hormones were fucked up. No matter how much guilt he bears, despite any insistence that his inaction is the only reason nothing changed, Piers knows that is not true. There is nothing he could have done to help Victor in a meaningful way, in a way that would benefit the kid, rather than him.
“Victor, I don’t know what’s going on, but-”
“It’s fine, Piers,” That same strange voice interjects as Victor looks up at him once again, his eyes that same shade of red, his irises bright with an unnatural glow. “You don’t need to know what’s going on.”
He can’t argue with… Whoever is possessing Victor before he is lunging forward, his hands flying to his shoulders to keep Piers from running away from him. There is a terrifying strength in Victor’s small hands as he slams their lips together, hungry and painful as their teeth meet one another’s. He can’t help but notice how hot Victor’s hands are against his skin, it feels like he is burning bruises into his skin as the pressure increases slightly. He’s vaguely aware of Victor sliding into his lap as their lips move messily against one another’s, quickly followed by Victor’s tongue poking its way into his mouth.
This should be a dream come true, Victor sweet and pliant in his lap as they make out, too caught up in one another to care if anyone catches them, but this is nothing like that dream. Where Piers imagined Victor’s hands shaking with nerves, his grip is firm and sure of himself as they glide down Piers’ body, one coming to rest at his waist while the other finds a spot on his chest and shoves. It feels like the air is punched out of his lungs when Piers hits the mattress, springs creaking as he’s pushed further into the surface as Victor swings his leg over his lap, his hands caressing his ribcage, rattling with each shaky breath he’s able to draw.
“V-Victor,” His name tumbles from his lips quickly, gnashed up in his accent but still recognizable as a name. “C-C’mon, you don’t want to do this…”
“Yes, he does.” He says, eyes flickering like a broken streetlight, a sign of caution, to tread lightly. It’s clear that all caution is thrown to the wind with how Victor grabs Piers wrist and tug his hand upwards, slipping it under his shirt to meet warm, sweat-damp skin. His back arches at the simple touch, eager for more, body yearning for his touch. Whoever is reacting this way, it’s not the entity speaking for Victor, even if Piers has no real way of confirming this suspicion of his. “We would not be doing this if he didn’t want to…”
For a split second, Piers wonders if he even wants to do this… Of course he’s wanted to be a part of this very scenario, Victor warm and willing and desperate for Piers, for anything the musician can offer him, but not like this. He never wanted there to be a third party, some unforeseen variable forcing itself upon him on Victor’s behalf, it seems. But why should he trust this strange creature, with no idea of what exactly is speaking to him, what is puppeteering the young boy above him.
However, it pays no mind to Piers’ hesitancy, its hands sliding down his torso, leaving hot streaks in their wake as it makes its way to the waistband of his underwear. It strikes him like lightning, the realization that whatever has possessed Victor does not care about whether or not Piers wants to do this. Does Victor care, or is he another goal post for the prodigy to burn through? The hand that cups his crotch tells him “yes.”
He wishes he could fight off the wave of shivers that roll through him as Victor continues to paw at his groin, his palm grinding against the shaft of dick, his body reacting to the light touch. Piers can’t deny how good it feels to have his hand on his dick, though, knowing that admitting it to himself will only worsen his growing guilt. It’s when Victor’s hand slips past the waistband of his underwear does it become all too overwhelming, guilt and pleasure twisting into one another and forming a heavy knot in the pit of his stomach.
Piers squeezes his eyes shut and bites at his lips to hold in the sob threatening to tear itself from his throat. He can feel the annoying prick of tears at the corner of his eyes as his body burns alight, the heat from the champion’s hand infecting him as well.
“Does it feel good, Piers?” Asks a small voice, a familiar voice. His eyes fly open, expecting to see Victor back to normal, that only part of this was a nightmare, but there’s only red gazing down at him. When did it gain possession of Victor’s voice?
“Yeah…” Comes his hushed whisper, because it is good. Even if it’s not the dream Piers had in mind, that doesn’t make it a complete and utter nightmare. He affirms it further by rolling his hips, bucking upwards to fuck the small hand wrapped around his cock, groaning at the delicious friction against such sensitive skin. “‘S good, Vic… You’ve got no idea…”
It’s only made better by the sheer difference in their size. While Piers has never been a large man himself, Victor is thinner, more waifish in his figure. He’s feather light in his lap, only a slight pressure existing across the tops of his thighs where Victor has situated himself. Being held down by such a young kid, knowing the strength lying dormant with what creature exists inside him, is a thrill Piers has never experienced from any battle or concert, no performance could make his heart beat as fast as it is right now.
Clearly Victor… And whoever is enjoying themselves too, if the way he’s grinding against his thigh is anything to go off of. In the sea of sensations, he’s able to feel something slick and wet gathering on the skin of his thigh, warming that area in particular and leaving a tacky texture behind. It’s the tipping point for him, unable to bear such inactivity anymore.
Piers wills his arms to move, even if it feels as if his bones are made of lead. He manages to find the hem of Victor's shirt, grabbing onto it for dear life, something to keep him level as he jerks his cock faster. He thinks to slide his hand lower, seeking out more clothes to remove, but there is nothing past Victor’s shirt. How did he not notice the lack of underwear on the kid’s part? Whatever, it doesn’t matter now, he figures. Not when he’s so close to the object of his desires, to fulfilling some sick dream that he’s carried for way too long.
His hand shoots forward nonetheless, his thumb slipping smoothly between two puffy and slick covered lips. It’s not long before he finds his clit between the skin, the calloused pad of his thumb rubbing over the hard and throbbing nub. Victor’s hand stutters in its movements, his hand closing and opening around his cock, creating a teasing rhythm.
“You’re burnin’ hot,” Piers mutters under his breath, his own cock throbbing at his words. “You’ve been waiting for this for so long, haven’t ya?”
He isn’t sure what’s gotten into him, maybe the creature inside of Victor has wormed its way into him, invisible strings tightening to pull him up and onto his other elbow. The one that isn’t attached to the hand that is slowly sinking further into the sopping wet heat between Victor’s legs. His fingers find the edge of his hole which is fluttering in response to the older man’s fingers, beckoning him deeper, even if Victor doesn’t know that’s what he is doing to him.
“Look at you,” He says as he dips his fingers inside of the boy above him. His breath hisses between his teeth as tight and slippery walls welcome him, clamp down around the fingers invading it. “Such a tight cunt, just begging to be fucked and bred by my cock, aren’tcha, Victor?”
“Y-Yes…” He answers, speaking double once more as his voice shakes just like his small frame. “I want you to b-breed me and get me pregnant, Piers~”
The kid’s filthy words go straight to his cock, already weeping with precum and his balls tight, desperate to have Victor’s pussy wrapped around his cock instead of his loose hand. As if forgetting the strength he possesses, Piers reaches up to grab him by his bicep and shoves him off and towards the bed, taking advantage of his precarious balance to tip him over. He lands just how he wants him, his hands against the mattress, having come up to instinctively brace his fall, with his knees planted firmly into the bed, surely in pain from the metal springs pushing up against the both of them.
Like a man gone mad, Piers wastes no time clambering up and onto his own knees, his hands flying to grip Victor’s waist, savoring the feeling of such young and supple skin against his gritty and calloused hands. The promise of being allowed to ruin someone so fresh and innocent is far too exciting to let it slip away.
Piers juts his hips forward and he reaches down to wrap his hand around the base of his cock, guiding it forward to rub the leaking head of his cock against Victor’s pussy. Wet sounds come up from where Piers teases Victor’s cunt, their cum slipping against one another’s before mixing together with each steady stroke of his cock along Victor’s folds. It’s hard to feel bad about taking advantage of Victor when his moans sound like they’re straight out of a wet dream, high pitched and whining, rolling right off his tongue to flood Piers brain, covering it in a hazy fog of lust and guilt.
He shouldn’t be doing this at all, even if Victor wants it… He’s just a kid. He should be more concerned about some strange pokemon possessing him rather than taking advantage of the fact that the very same pokemon is finally giving him a chance to fuck Victor. For a moment, the fog clears and his interest wanes, his guilt beginning to weigh on him yet again. But then Victor rocks his hips backwards, his cute moans suffocated by the mattress as the tip of Piers’ cock slides right into his dripping pussy.
“If you’re so desperate for my cock,” Piers taunts him, slowly rocking his hips, using the tip of his cock to rut against that soft bundle of nerves just past Victor’s entrance. “Then I’ll give you exactly what you want-”
He slams right into Victor, his fingernails digging into pale skin as he groans from the sloppy wet heat choking his cock. God, it’s an amazing feeling having Victor wrapped around his cock, his bony hips pressed up against the soft swell of Victor’s butt. He’s impossibly tight, just like Piers imagined, and he can’t help but look down where their bodies connect and stare as he rolls his hips, forcing his cunt to take more than he can handle.
“So tight,” Piers says, his mouth moving faster than his brain and just spewing all the dirtiest things he’s ever said in his fantasies. “Absolutely perfect fit for my cock. Your pussy’s just begging for me to break it in and turn it into a real cocksleeve…”
Victor only moans in response, tucking his face closer to the sheets to keep Piers from seeing the shameful flush across his face.
He is tense below him, back pulled tight as a bowstring ready to snap if handled wrong. Piers pulls his hips back slowly, sighing in pleasure as his plush pussy clings to every inch of his cock while all of Victor’s tension melts away in his hands. He slumps forward as Piers slams back into him with the same vicious speed, the head of his cock nestled up against his cervix, punching all the air out of his lungs.
“P-Piers…” He moans, needy and muffled. The musician can’t make out whatever it is Victor is trying to say to him and pays no mind to what it might be. If Victor wanted to back out now, he should have thought harder about whether or not he wanted this from the older man because Piers wasn’t going to stop until he’s filled up his tight cunt.
It’s a harsh pace that Piers starts up, unforgiving in his roughness toward his partner as he hits the back of Victor’s drooling cunt over and over again, paying no mind to how he cries out below him. An obscene slapping begins to fill the air as their skin grows wetter from their cum, from Victor being so enthusiastic that with each thrust into him more of his juices spill out around Piers' dick. He can feel the champion’s cum dribbling down his balls as it makes its way down Victor’s thighs to stain the sheets below.
He can already feel Victor tensing once more, his muscles pulling taunt and straining against his hands as Piers continues to rock his body back and forth, using the champion as little more than a mindless fucktoy. Piers slides his hands upwards, fingers ghosting over flushed, sweaty skin as he traces along his spine, admiring each dip and curve carved into the small expanse of Victor’s back. He curls his hands over the boy’s petite shoulders, nails digging into his collarbone as Piers pulls him taunt, pulling his back into a dramatic arch forcing out a low moan as his muscles strain and vertebrae pop from the position.
He is stuttering and gasping for air now, Victor’s back shifting in quick pulses as Piers fights to keep his pace, not wanting to be distracted by such a tantalizing sight. He already should have enough of Victor to sate himself, but it’s not enough. He’s sure that it’ll never be enough, that he won’t be happy until he’s consumed the champion’s very being, or what may be left of him in the wake of that beast he caught that night. With that thought, Piers leans forward until his own body settles into the obscene curve of Victor’s back, skin gliding against one another as Piers sinks his teeth into it. Victor’s shaking bothers him none as he pulls his teeth out of marred flesh, his tongue following closely behind to lap at the bleeding imprints left behind.
Edging near exhaustion, Piers still makes the effort to pull his head away from the curve of Victor’s neck and brush his lips against the boy’s ear, whispering, “D’you still want me to breed your pussy?”
His voice comes out as little more than a growl, something primal and previously buried under his conscious slipping out to take hold in these final, heartstopping moments as that telltale wave of pleasure crests and comes crashing against Piers. He can’t wait for Victor’s response as he presses his bony hips against the soft swell of the champion’s ass, nestling his cock right up against Victor’s cervix before he cums inside of him.
Testament to how small Victor is compared to him, Piers immediately feels how his cum floods the teen’s cunt, flowing out around the shaft of his softening dick until it gathers and spills past his opening to slide down Victor’s pale thighs and to the mattress below.
His living room is quiet now and Piers can’t push down the instinct he has to listen for Marnie, to try and preserve her innocence regarding this entire situation. How ironic, Piers thinks as he sighs in relief.
Piers pulls away from Victor, groaning quietly as his spine pops and his hips creak under his slight weight. There’s a small noise from Victor as he shifts inside of him, the walls of his pussy still clinging tightly to his dick. He chuckles at the whimper he gets from the kid as he pulls out of him, another wave of hot cum rushing out of his used hole.
Any other lay, Piers would have lit up a cigarette by now and picked their clothes up off his floor and tossed them onto the bed. However, Victor and what has possessed him aren’t any other lay and he can’t bear the thought of being so callous with them, with someone he’s coveted for as long as he has. So he sits at the edge of the bed and watches as Victor picks a spot that isn’t soiled on the bed and sinks down with a shuddering sigh, tension melting away from his shoulders.
There’s nothing to say, no gnawing thoughts and concerns to voice, not even any praise he can think to give the champion because something tells him the creature that has possessed him is reassuring Victor all on its own. As much as Piers wants to lay down with Victor, he isn’t confident in his ability to wake up before Marnie and get back to his room to avoid being found out.
The bed groans beneath him as he stands up, squinting through the darkness to find where the hell the blanket is. He finds it on the floor, unsurprisingly, and stray Zigzagoon hair aside, he’s glad it didn’t get ruined like the sheets. Victor doesn’t react as Piers throws the blanket over him or when he tucks the blanket under his thin frame, making sure that he’s covered from head to toe.
Piers is sure that Victor is asleep when he leans in to kiss his forehead, still salty with dried sweat, but there’s a quiet whispering hanging in the air around the champion and Piers knows that it’s not from Victor. He pulls away quickly when he realizes what he’s hearing, but he can’t ignore the voice he hears when he walks away.
“Good night, Piers…” It’s a chilling purr, a warm sentiment from something cold and utterly terrifying. He mumbles good night back to it and hurries back to his room, unsure if he’ll be allowed to put tonight behind him.