Chapter Text
It starts as a warm feeling in her belly.
She dismisses it at first. Hormonal fluctuations were perfectly normal. Heightened emotions were perfectly normal. Nothing to worry about.
But it strikes her in the worst possible place—in Steven’s home, all because she’d brought him a possible meteorite from Meteor Falls.
It’s not an excuse, really. The meteorite, that is. Mossdeep Space Center was nearby, just closed for the day. He’d been interested, in that usual way of his, and he’d requested she come immediately (she’d tried to ignore the heat in her chest at the thought) and now she’s here, waiting for him to finish examining the rock in his hands, and trying to ignore the little thoughts blooming in her head wishing he’d look at her with the same fascination.
Her discomfort escalates when she realizes that similar thoughts were sprouting, filling her head, and it starts to feel overgrown. They’re crawling over the surface of her mind, like ivy. There’s hardly any room for more normal thoughts—they seemed to fade beyond this unnatural foliage of intrusive, heated voices.
He has nice forearms, actually. Doesn’t he lift Arons?
He could probably lift you with one hand. You should let him.
He just licked his lips. That’s hot.
You wish he’d handle you with those fingers.
As the onslaught of unsettling thoughts fill her mind, she realizes the heat spreading slowly through her body, like a fever. Trying to conceal her panic, she quickly excuses herself to the bathroom.
Once the door is locked behind her, she tries to calm down. Her heart is beating fast, like a hunted animal’s, and her body is seeking relief. She twists the faucet on and splashes water on her face and neck, trying to cool her burning skin. A thought occurs to her, amidst the haze.
There’d been a swarm of Roselia on Route 123. Unusual, since they weren’t common on that route, at least based on any data collected by Brendan or Professor Birch, but rare swarms were always possible. She hadn’t fussed about the details, just logged it into her PokeDex like usual. But she’d been engulfed by a cloud of sweet-scented pollen that made her choke and cough, before escaping to the nearest Pokemon Center in Lilycove. She’d made sure her Pokemon were okay, of course—they’d all received healing from Nurse Joy, and she’d been perfectly fine. Until now.
She squints first at her PokeDex, checking all data entries from the Birches on Roselia, before making multiple searches on her PokeNav to try and confirm her suspicions—texting Brendan just seemed like a bad idea. However, searching “roselia pollen dangerous” doesn’t seem to bring many answers. All she turns up are aroma ladies sharing secrets on forums, because sure, those sweet scents are lovely. She adds “to humans” at the end of her search query and still turns up nothing definite. Yes, random BuzzNav article, you’re the expert on this, of course small doses of Roselia pollen are harmless to humans.
Maybe she’s just crazy.
Maybe it’s puberty.
She shakes her head. Maybe Roselia pollen just makes you dumb.
She considers searching that instead, before her insides clench uncomfortably, making her grasp the edges of the sink in surprise. These weren’t cramps. They didn’t feel normal. As she struggles to recover, a new wave hits her, and it almost brings her to her knees. Her breath is coming in hot little pants—her head is hazy—she suddenly very, very much wants to be touched all over. It sounds insane—but she realizes through the dreamy fog closing in that she’s aroused , in a way she’s never been before. There’s a damp spot forming fast between her legs, and she groans.
The problem is this. May gets hot and bothered sometimes . Maybe rarely is a better descriptor. This is hardly her first time dealing with a rogue libido. (Even if hers just happens to be more rogue than libido.) But it doesn’t happen out of nowhere, and certainly not this intensely, or as quickly. She hasn’t even been attracted to anyone new in a long time—and it factors so little into her daily life that this feeling, this sudden urgent need, just feels wrong .
She lowers herself into a crouch, still gripping the sink, and tries to shake off the daze as she considers her options.
- Climbing out of Steven’s bathroom window and escaping. (There is no window, just a vent. Rats.)
- Claiming sanctuary and locking herself in the bathroom til this is over. (Not possible. This is his house!)
- Rub one out and get it over with (This is depraved, even for her. He’s still right there!)
- Tell Steven. Maybe he can help.
- ???
No no no no no.
Maybe she should just rub one out and get it over with. She’s tried it before, when she was alone and stupid in the privacy of a secret base—but the thought of it only makes her feel worse.
Do it. While Steven’s one room away.
Maybe he’ll hear you and join in.
The panic rises as she realizes she can’t do this. She can’t relieve herself on her own—not without time, not when she’s panicking, and it’s probably the fear that makes her consider the absurd option that maybe Steven would actually help.
Like, help help.
Surely he could help you get your rocks off.
No , she chides herself. He wouldn’t be into that.
Because surely she was imagining all those moments he’d been so close and in her space. Surely there was nothing there, just hormonal teenage imaginings. (Stupid rogue libido still emerges from the shadows sometimes.)That’s a thing that happens.
(She ignores the fact that normally, she barely deals with such thoughts. Ignores the fact that normally, there’s always something else she’d rather focus on. Ignores the fact that normally, she has to be persuaded to give such things a shot, even if she doesn’t want to—)
She yelps when he knocks on the door.
“May?”
His voice sounds concerned, and she can’t bring herself to answer, so all that leaves her is a strangled noise.
“Are you all right?”
Her head is pounding now, echoing the frenzied beating of her panicked heart. She can’t hide in his toilet forever, and she definitely can’t hide this feeling for much longer.
But she’s gonna have to try anyway, so she opens the door a crack.
He peers at her through the space between the door and the jamb. “Is everything okay?”
“Yeah,” she lies. Unconvincingly, it seems, because Steven only raises an eyebrow.
“Well, if you still wanted to know, you did find a meteorite. The space center will be happy to have it, it’s a good specimen.”
“That’s nice.” She squirms as the heat and dampness between her legs starts to assert itself. “I, uh…I think I need to leave.”
Smooth, May. Real smooth.
“Oh?”
“I’m not feeling so good.”
He pushes the door open then, and she stumbles back, trying to hide her face, painfully aware of his stature, his touch—his hand is on her forehead, and her body responds, far too loudly.
He’s touching you he’s touching you he’s touching you
“Come out here,” he says, taking her by the hand and to the main space of the house—his house, despite its sparse décor, suddenly feels cramped and far too small.
“You’re flushed,” he murmurs, “and you feel warm. Did you get caught in the rain along Route 120?”
“Y-yes,” she lies, grasping at the excuse. “I must have caught cold flying on the way here.”
“It happens far more often than you think. I should have medication here somewhere, and I have room if you need to sleep it off—please, stay.”
“No!” She says, wresting her hand away from his. “I mean—no, no thank you, I can fly back—“
“May, you’re shaking.”
He was right—she was unbalanced, but it wasn’t just that, her knees can’t support her, she’s going to pass out, she’s going to die. This must be what death feels like. Imploding in hormonal feelings.
He catches her mid-fall— he’s so strong, just let him pick you up —and in what seems like one motion he manages to scoop her up and seat her on his table. She’s trying to ignore how, in doing so, his body is positioned between her legs, and she’s kept upright only by his support.
They’ve never been this close before. She wants to lean into his touch, press her face into his neck. His tie is loose, she realizes, his top button undone, and his jacket draped over a nearby chair. Her thoughts begin to wander, curious how he’d react if she leaned up and—
No no no.
He’s tilting her face up to his, and she fidgets under his touch, trying to avoid his gaze. She can feel a feverish heat blooming upwards from the pit of her belly to the base of her throat, and her head feels fuzzy—but not so fuzzy that she realizes she’s gotten her selfish little wish. Steven’s studying her closely—his eyes focused and lingering— his eyes are such a deep grey —before meeting her gaze and giving her a stern look.
“May, you need to tell me what’s wrong.”
“Nothing’s wrong,” she rasped out. “I just need to go.”
“Your pupils are dilated,” he says, firmly keeping her from looking away, “You’re running a fever. And you haven’t stopped shaking since I pulled you out of hiding in the bathroom. I think it’s time you stopped lying to me.”
The emphasis on those last few words make her flinch. There’s a pause, another painful clench of her insides, before she confesses.
“I think it’s Roselia pollen.”
His eyes widen. “How much?”
How much??
“How much?” She echoes her indignant thought. “I didn’t know it mattered—I heard that the pollen isn’t poisonous to humans—“
Steven’s shaking his head, pulling back slightly. “Roselia pollen in small quantities is harmless, but in large doses is a dangerous aphrodisiac, and toxic, to humans. It’s why perfumeries filter out certain compounds before distributing them as essences. I’m sure you’ve seen the aroma ladies along route 117—they’re fond of the scent. They seem to think it attracts people. The effects are different for Pokemon.”
So she’d just been stupid. “Oh.”
“It’s not your fault,” he assured her. “One Roselia can’t produce the amount needed to create toxic quantities. How long ago was this?”
She hesitates before answering. “Earlier this afternoon. Before I called you about the Meteorite. I got caught in a freak swarm of Roselia—there were at least five or six—“
“ Five or six? ”
“—I made it to Lilycove to heal my Pokemon but I didn’t think—“
His eyes widened. “And you resisted the effects this long? May—it’s past sundown, you can’t travel in this condition, you must be—”
“What else could I have done?” She snaps, impatient now and annoyed.
His face falls. “You could have told me.”
The silence is deafening.
You know, he’s not wrong.
“I…didn’t think I could,” she admits, hanging her head. “You know how I must be feeling right now—I panicked. I didn’t know what was going on.”
“I wouldn’t have judged you.” He looked sad? Disappointed? “I would never. I wish I could have helped sooner. Are you in pain?”
Her insides clench almost as though in response, and she nods, wincing. Her skin is burning, and it makes her want to peel it off. She’s not sure how much longer she can hold out—she feels like collapsing. The base of her spine is beginning to pulse now, the ache radiating outwards from her lower abdomen. She wonders how her breath hasn’t left her in steamy puffs, because every breath she exhales feels hot—and she’s panting heavily.
He’s unbuttoning his vest now, shrugging out of it. Rolling his sleeves up, removing his tie. Tugging his heavy rings off. He’s—
“What are you doing?” she asks, eyes darting over his exposed forearms— aren’t they nice? They’re so nice, really—
“What needs to be done,” he says, his tone serious. “While your head is still clear, I need you to not panic.” He takes a deep breath, lets it out slowly, before speaking. Like he’s the one who needs to collect himself. “You already have fever—the toxins are probably attacking your system now. Even if I get you to emergency care—they should have antidotes, I think they do—but at this point they won’t stop the aphrodisiac symptoms, even if they counter the main toxins. You could still be in pain for a while. If you…if you allow it,” he stammers, as though he can’t say it evenly, “if you allow me , I…we can take care of this privately.”
He meets her eyes. “I’ll help you however you need me to. This can stay between us. We…never have to speak of it afterwards, if you wish. I just want to help you. I won’t do anything you don’t want me to. I promise. Just…I’m asking you to trust me.”
It takes a moment before she realizes his meaning, and the heat in her face intensifies—or it could be the pollen. He’s got his hands at her sides, leaning in, and her aroused little mind thinks, oh. He’s about to do anything you want. Everything.
Told you he’d help you get your rocks off.
“I do trust you,” she manages to reply, ignoring the smug thought. “You…you know that, right?”
“You trust me?” He breathes, coming closer, their foreheads touching. Her head swam, she couldn’t take her eyes off his mouth, soft and parted. “So…You’re okay with this?”
“Of course,” she murmurs. The pain seemed to lessen, slightly, as he cradled her face in his hands. She closes her eyes for a moment, savoring this feeling. She’s not sure where her next words come from.
“If I had a choice, I’d still choose you, you know.”
When she opens her eyes again, she sees his chest relax, like he was letting out a breath he’d been holding. He doesn’t ask for an explanation, and she doesn’t provide one.
Coward.
Was he blushing? Trick of the light. It had to be.
“Then, tell me,” he whispers. “How do I make you come?”