Salazzle

He hadn't set out to be one of "Them". He wasn't like that. No, he wasn't a freak. He was moral, he had values, he wasn't some pervert.
Well he'd done it anyway, hadn't he?
He'd caught her as a salandit. He'd been looking for a fire type, that's all. He hadn't even knew they could evolve. Heck, at the time, he hadn't known she was female. He'd been beat into the ground by a grass type trainer two days ago, and wanted to make sure it never happened again. And she'd done that well
The afternoon had been an oppressively humid one when she evolved, a tired sun shining lazily from the horizon. The battle had been close, won only by his Salandit's pluck and speed. He'd seen her cascade with light, her spine arch as it lengthened. Where once there had been his squat, sly little companion, now stood... something else entirely. Sleek. He wanted to call her skinny, but it felt wrong. Slender, then. (His deeper parts thought of plenty of other words, but he didn't care for them at all)
It begun then. They would be walking aside each other, and his eyes would shift over to her, then up then down then- oh god you sumbitch you did it again. And she was a her now, yessiree, not "little buddy", not "'Sal-Sal". Somewhere along the way, his mind had made the distinction between what it was before, and what she was now.
The dreams came first. Unshackled by the material, his mind came to visions of her. Their hands crested over one another in ways unfamiliar but exciting, pulling warm skin against cool scale in the cascade of sensation known only to dreams.
That had him worried. But hey, he knew he wasn't one of them He'd seen them before, the 'philes. You were bound to, as a trainer. It had always stuck with him the way that Delphox had wrapped her arms around her trainer's waist and rubbed against his back, and the grin and stroke on the neck he gave her. They wasn't friendly actions. They was something else entirely.
He weren't one of them. He knew that.


Of course, she hadn't helped. He wasn't a scientist, a farmer or breeder, no wisened expert to their kind, but he had held confusion about his Pokémon's actions nonetheless.
They were supposed to go and find mates weren't they? The rest of his team did, much to the benefit of his PC box.
She hadn't. Before, he had thought little of it
With the gift (or curse) of retrospection, he
Though the days had passed when she could ride upon his back as a Salandit, she always found a way to be near him. When they stopped or rested, it was her by his side, tail flicking gaily against his thigh, amethyst eyes gazing towards him when she felt he wasn't looking.
The first time they slept together, it could be excused as a mere cause of coincidence
 It was the miserable combination of sleet and wind chill that only Ula'ula Island could boast as its specialty. The small outcrop he'd found stopped the drenching, but did little for the bite of frigidity.
Thus, he hadn't argued when the cold-blooded creature nestled proudly atop him as he lay in his bedroll, tail wrapped gently around his wrist under the blanket.
But then, he hadn't argued when she crawled atop his chest the night after, even with the return of decent weather. Or the nights following.
It was what trainers did, he rationalised. You weren't just coaching the Pokémon to kick the snot out of each other, you were fostering positive lasting relationships with them. There were so many of the buggers, of course some would show affection in different ways.
It didn't feel like just that, though. Nor did her half-lidded gaze meeting his as she lay atop his chest waiting for him to wake.
He swore at these times he saw vapor come from her mouth in gentle plumes, to break across his face.


Those boundaries though, had been all talk, hadn't they? They hadn't changed nothing.
It had been a hotel. Nice place in a rustic sort of way, wool blankets and stone floor.
His team had been put back into their Pokeballs for the night. She hadn't.
When was the last time she'd seen the inside of a Pokeball? He'd had to plough his memories for a time when she hadn't been far from him.
He had tried to rest, to slough off the weariness of a day of travel under the scrutiny of a relentless sun, clinging dust at the cffs of his jeans. His dreams had gone further. No longer did his traitorous mind stop at . He saw hands, his own, pull his belt off, as she stared in wait with an expression bordering on predatory
He'd awoken tangled in a web of bedsheets, sweat on his brow. A familiar weight was missing from atop him. Were it merely his imagination, or did the room have a haze to it?
She'd slunk from atop him to perch beside. In her eyes, purple-hued flames played around each other behind tiny slits of pupils. Theirs was not the roaring intensity known of so many of her fire brethren. Them eyes, they beheld a cunning, a slyness. Did he perceive a hint of nervousness too, the glint of uncertainty?
She slung herself in a way that arched he chest and splayed her hips almost deliberately, not a single muscle moving from snout to tail.
Her form was but two eyes bearing down on him from the darkness of the room, bright as bonfire. She did not reach out to him. That was for him to do. He didn't know how he knew that.
His mind was screaming at him even as his arm reached out for her . You ain't like this you dumb bastard you isn't one'a them Arceus damn it stop. As he touched her, the illusion of stillness broke, her form flowing under his arm to press against him, let the length of her tongue slide over his cheek. She let out a purring growl, and he felt it reverberate through him.
He felt other things too.


The reptiles head slowly drew up flush with her masters. She knew what he was feeling. Out came that tongue again, raking over his face. It stopped at his mouth, and nearly instinctually he met it, his lips meeting hers. Her eyes widened in surprise, then drew narrow with self-satisfaction.
As she straddled his thigh, he felt her heat against him, felt her rub against him with purpose. There was a scent in the air, he knew it.
Coyly, she drew away again. Those eyes were like searchlights as he positioned herself in an exposed position, her legs beckoning. She wasn't to come onto him. No, this was on him. She wanted him to come to her. To take her.
He wouldn't. He wasn't one of them. He was not one of them. This wasn't h-
Something inside him snapped. He didn't care anymore
She nearly flinched with the force he came upon her. Her recovery was immediate though, her long, beautiful legs curling around his waist, locking them together. And they was beautiful, wasn't they? They wasn't skinny, they wasn't slender. Beautiful, same as all of her, that jutting chest, the gorgeous way those cool scales shone in the light, the sly confidence that never seemed to waver.
A chorus of gasps, growls and murmurs came from beneath him. That long tongue found its way into his mouth again, and he met it in turn. She tasted of perfume- no she tasted of her. Arceus, it was wonderful.
She jerked abruptly as he fell into her folds with renewed vigor, every muscle tightened as she clung to him for her life's worth, crying out with a growl that turned into a whimper. In turn he held her tight, his strong arms crossing her slight back, encasing her.


Between the waves of pleasure which she teased from him, he felt a growing pressure arise within him. He didn't fight it. He couldn't really, if he'd wanted to, his mind enthralled to its more primal urges.
He'd lifted her against where the bed and wall met, carrying her entirely. She was large for her kind, but he pinned her weight easily. Her legs twitched weakly with each thrust.
With a muffled roar, he entered her one last time. He filled her deep, earning a hiss of approval from his partner (lover?)
She ground against him, milking him for all he was worth. She didn't let go. He didn't either. Her jaws raked his shoulder, skimming across gently, never cutting.
His chest rose and fell in turn with hers, their two halves meeting almost too well. There was no eye contact, her head buried in the crook of her neck. One of those long claws had found its way to his bicep, where it traced a lay circle gently
He moved his hand to it, interlacing. She paused before reciprocating the gesture, her cool scales intertwining with his heat-flushed skin.
Like so many nights, he fell asleep to the sight of her on his chest
Was this who he was? If this, if she was what it meant, he could live with it.