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Pokémon professors, as far as Diantha was aware, had to be open to debates and discussions. Many of the breakthroughs of the last few decades, including those Augustine had contributed to, had come about after periods of skepticism, of long, drawn-out explanations regarding both results and circumstances. Scientific progress usually involved, after rigorous experimentations, some convincing. Demonstrations and whatnot.
Despite this, there was apparently no proof good enough for Professor Augustine Sycamore when it came to admitting that he was owed a break.
A real break, too, not just a trip to a fancy café here and there, or taking advantage of being in Alola for a conference to take a walk on a beach once in between endless professional meetings. It didn't matter that his hair was greying, that he had eye bags darker than the feathers shed by Lysandre's honchkrow, or that he kept dozing off right after eating dinner. He was fine.
Until, of course, he wasn't, which was happening more and more in light of everything that had transpired in the last few months. He was easy to nurse back to health, at least – easier than Lysandre was, that was for sure – but even then he made it difficult to go beyond a little tender loving care. He would spring back up, argue that he was feeling much better, and resist any attempt to argue otherwise.
That they'd managed to wrangle him into submission was nothing short of a miracle. She suspected that the urgency in Lysandre's voice as he almost begged for a chance to free Augustine from some of what was burdening him had been the final straw that broke the numel's back. The man had a surprising talent when it came to appearing particularly pathetic.
Pathetic he was then, lost as he was in denying his own pleasure, his large, taut body covering Augustine's like a blanket. It complimented the way Augustine was lying on his stomach, his head resting over Diantha's lap, his eyes half-closed and his mouth half-open to let out short shudders and gasps with every thrust that Lysandre gave him.
He'd gone slack as soon as it had become clear they would not let him be in charge, for once. Diantha scratched the back of his neck, where the sweat stuck dark strands of hair to his skin, and simply enjoyed the view. Tonight was not about her, though that didn't mean she would allow herself to be ignored. For now, she was content to watch.
Augustine's back arched slightly. He'd drawn his knees up under him, to allow better access, and from the angle she was sitting at, peeking between the bodies moving in front of her, Diantha could just barely see Lysandre's big cock as it pushed in and pulled out of Augustine's well-used asshole in the even rhythm that had been trained into him. Lysandre hadn't come yet, which made his dedication even more commendable, though he couldn't fully keep his expression in check. His jaw set tight, he was frowning so deeply that his eyes, too, were nearly shut, and he was breathing louder and louder as he went, hissing through his gritted teeth and clutching the sheets under him. Diantha's favorite part was getting to witness how his muscles rippled, clenching and relaxing with every shake, highlighting the care he'd put into maintaining his body. It made for an especially appetizing sight whenever they put him through the wringer.
She wasn't sure when he'd be allowed to climax. Sometimes, when Augustine called the shots, it seemed like he would never let him reach that point. More than once, he'd done things to Lysandre's cock that had reduced him to bubbling tears and made him spill enough pre-come to soak through the mattress, and then announced he wouldn't be coming that night. He'd get one of their ice packs out of the fridge and lovingly force Lysandre to get soft while Lysandre did nothing except sob, his flushed face buried in the covers, muttering words of gratitude for his professor's magnanimity. It never failed to make Diantha wet, and Augustine relished licking between her legs until she got to come and Lysandre was left to watch, his face carrying the beatific expression of a man who'd borne witness to something beyond the divine.
There were days when she wondered what would have happened had they done this to him from the beginning. She tried not to linger on it. Contrary to what Professor Sycamore preached behind closed doors, not everything that was wrong with a broken psyche could be fixed with sex. If only.
Augustine, of course, had come at least once. He'd muffled expletives into her skin while she kept petting him and congratulating him for doing exactly what she wanted him to do. She could tell from the way he was squirming that he was growing impatient, eager for stronger stimulation, the sort that she found no solace in. She very rarely let Lysandre put the full brunt of what he had to offer inside her, finding the fullness and the depth to be more uncomfortable than anything else, but Augustine reveled in it. He could take Lysandre easily, and so much more. More importantly, he did not shy away from the work that getting Lysandre's fist inside him required, even if it meant he'd spent all that he had by the time his wrist could finally pop in. It was something she did find admirable about him, whether one would call it perseverance or stubbornness.
"Lys," Augustine groaned, his stubble brushing against Diantha's inner thigh. Lysandre's eyelids fluttered but he did not falter. "Need you deeper. Fuck, Lys, make me come again, fuck me harder, please–"
Diantha bit her lip. She was still wearing the lacy lingerie she'd put on for the occasion, and she could feel her panties sticking to her. She scratched the side of Augustine's jaw, where his sideburns met the faint beginning of a beard. She didn't have to meet Lysandre's gaze to know he would wait for her permission; this was her scene, after all.
"Go on," she said. "Do what your professor says."
With a soft grunt, Lysandre drew back, his whole body held tight, so he could push even harder, so much so that Augustine had to cling to Diantha to stay in place. He wrapped his arms around her hips and kept his face between her legs, his breath hot on her. When Lysandre pulled back again, Augustine let out a whine, and Diantha stared, her pulse beating in her cunt, at the shining red rim of his asshole, stretching as if unwilling to let go. She only wished she could see it better.
The sounds made up for it, sopping wet squelches interspersed with the slaps of Lysandre's heavy balls. His eyes were squeezed shut now, his whole face flushed from both the physical exertion and the effort he was making not to go over the edge. Diantha's gaze lingered on his swollen nipples, their stiffened tips inviting. She couldn't afford to distract him, no matter the temptation. Again, this was about Augustine, not her.
She would have her fun in time.
After a particularly strong shove that made Lysandre's chest heave, Augustine shouted and came a second time, trembling all over. She couldn't see it, but it was easy for Diantha to imagine the weight and pressure of Lysandre's cock embedded deep within his guts, the head of it finally breaching into the deepest part that only he could reach. Augustine wheezed, and smeared wet tears on Diantha's thighs, sniffling and shaking so much he couldn't keep his grip on her anymore.
Lysandre, meanwhile, had gone completely still. The only thing indicating he was conscious was the slight movement of his chest as he breathed. He hadn't come; she didn't need to ask to know. He was the most talented at denying himself.
"Arceus, Palkia, and Dialga," Augustine swore in a muffled whisper. "I think I pulled something."
Diantha chuckled. "Don't move. I'll get the big guy off of you in a minute."
"Oh, we both know you won't get him off just yet."
That he could joke meant he was in good shape. Diantha gave him a little tap on the back of his neck for his troubles, which sent him into a cackling fit. She looked up at Lysandre.
"Lysandre," she called out to try to get his attention. His eyes blinked open, though it was impossible to tell if he could really see anything. "How are you feeling?"
"Sore," he groaned. He did not move.
Diantha smiled at him. He blinked again, as if hesitating to look away, but held on. She didn't miss the bob of his throat when he swallowed.
"Let me help you with that," she said, kindly, even though they both knew she would not be kind to him – not that he wanted her to be. "Pull out slowly, will you? You've tired our poor professor out."
Augustine mumbled something incomprehensible in agreement. His face remained buried in Diantha's lap, his body as limp as if he'd been deflated. Lysandre breathed out through his nose, evoking a large, displeased pokémon who'd been ordered to do something by his trainer that he was reluctant to do.
Still, he obeyed, taking Augustine's waist between his big hands so he could pull out very gently. He huffed the whole time, though he voiced no protest. Diantha made a mental note to give him a very nice reward at the end of it all.
Then, he froze. His frown of blissful abandon morphed into one of genuine confusion, at first, before becoming one of concern. He hummed, a rumbling sound that usually signified he was deep in thought, and peered down, one hand letting go of Augustine so he could get a better view. Most alarmingly, she could tell the flush on his face had faded somewhat.
"Ah," he let out. Augustine squirmed, his eyebrows furrowing as well. "Professor..."
"Slowly," Augustine said.
Slowly, slowly, Lysandre went on, the new angle he was using making it hard for Diantha to see what he was doing.
"Is something wrong?" she asked.
"It's stuck," Lysandre mumbled. In his current state, Diantha knew that he had to be trying very hard to be cognizant. "It won't pull out."
Augustine grunted. "Hold on," he said, and took a deep breath. "Slow and steady."
It wasn't the first time they'd had difficulties caused by their admittedly ridiculous size difference, but it was the first time Lysandre looked so worried about it. Diantha schooled her expression into one of absolute placidity and confidence, which did little to help.
He moved back slightly, his gestures careful and measured, and Augustine hiccuped out a garbled moan, grasping for the bedsheets.
"Professor," Lysandre said, his voice unsure, shaky with uncertainty.
"Don't stop," Augustine shot back. "Lys. Keep going."
His firm tone did seem to convince Lysandre that whatever was happening was not as much of a concern as he thought, because he obeyed, pulling back more, and kept going even as Augustine began to tremble, each movement extracting high-pitched whines out of him.
"Lysandre," Diantha said as soon as Lysandre stilled again, staring down at where his cock was presumably coming out of Augustine's ass. "How is it?"
Lysandre opened his mouth to run the tip of his tongue over his lower teeth. "Stuck," he repeated. "Out."
"Out?" Diantha couldn't contain the disbelief in her voice.
He nodded. Sprawled over her lap, Augustine began to laugh, his shoulders shaking with it.
"It was bound to happen eventually!" he exclaimed like it was the funniest thing in the world. "Arceus, this feels so fucking weird."
Diantha resisted the urge to pinch him on the nape for making this into a joke when Lysandre was this distressed. Not that Augustine could tell, as out of it as he was. She was the one in charge.
"Lysandre, look at me." When he did, she smiled at him. "It's alright. I'll come help you."
He nodded again. She straightened herself up and shifted out of Augustine's grasp, making sure that he could lay his head back on the bed. He barely even seemed to notice that she was gone.
She joined Lysandre on the other side to take stock of the situation. The sight of Augustine's ass made something curl at the pit of her stomach, a mixture of automatic disgust and stunned desire. It was, indeed, out: bright red and surprisingly moist flesh had popped out of the rim and was wrapped around Lysandre's glans like a hungry mouth unwilling to let go of its meal. It pulsed gently in time with Augustine's breathing, making it seem almost as if he was sucking on Lysandre's cock.
She couldn't even begin to imagine the sensations from either point of view. Judging by Lysandre's expression, it was one part horror, one part ecstasy. One of his hands was still clutching Augustine's waist while the other rested on the bed, very close to his trapped cock, hesitating.
"It's alright," Diantha said, ignoring the low sound of her voice, throaty with arousal. "I'll help you fix it."
Lysandre stared at her. She didn't ask if she could touch him; she did it before she could give herself the time to regret it. Her hand wrapped around Lysandre's glans, around Augustine's collapsed ass, and she gave it a squeeze.
"Oh fuck," Augustine gasped. Lysandre didn't make a sound, but he held his head up, eyes rolling back, and she felt his cock throb hard.
"Will you come for me?" she asked. She gave another squeeze and then, using Augustine's warm flesh like a sleeve, began to stroke, keeping her focus on the tip of Lysandre's cock, where she knew he was the most sensitive. "Look at me."
He'd turned away, perhaps in shame, his cheeks once again burning hot. There were tears in his eyes when he complied, his lips parted, his breathing uneven.
"Champion," he wheezed out. Diantha gripped him harder, ignoring the curses Augustine was muttering, the unsubtle way in which he'd started to rut against the sheets in an attempt to get himself off for a third time. "It's–"
"I always knew your cock was too big to fuck anyone with safely," Diantha went on, cutting him off. Lysandre moaned, a broken sound like he was dying. "Do you see what you've done? How you've ruined your poor professor's asshole? It's so loose and stretched out. What other use is there for it now?"
Knowing full well that Lysandre was too lost in the meeting point of disgust and pleasure to notice, she pressed her free hand between her legs, where her damp panties clung to her cunt. She didn't want to come – she had other, better plans that required making Lysandre go even more out of his mind, which she was clearly succeeding at – but she needed to feel herself, to rub circles around her swollen clit at the same pace as she was kneading his cock.
"Lysandre," she said, watching him, the sweat rolling down his neck, the flush spreading over his plump breasts, the spasming muscles of his stomach that he kept clenching every time she would rub the underside of his glans a little more firmly, "you can come."
He did, gagging on his spit, his cock twitching hard under Diantha's palm, burning hot through the flesh of Augustine's prolapsed asshole. She couldn't resist pulling him toward her and biting the soft flesh of his left tit, right next to the nipple, making him yelp – and spill a little more.
She only let go of him once she could feel his cock starting to go soft. That he wasn't getting hard again was a testimony to how hard his orgasm had been, though she also suspected that holding back for so long had exhausted most of his stamina. The whole "getting his cock stuck in Augustine's ass and turning it inside out" probably wasn't helping.
Once his breathing had steadied and he looked less like he was going to keel over, she took hold of his cock again.
"Don't move," she said. He batted his eyelashes at her, his eyes puffy from how hard he'd been crying. "I've got you, sweetheart."
He knew she did. He stayed perfectly still for her while she very carefully pulled him out of Augustine's asshole. Augustine stirred, but he was nowhere near coherent enough to do much else. She was perfectly content to leave him to drift off while she took care of things.
With Lysandre's cock out of the picture, she could see that it wasn't as bad as it could have been. She suspected that Augustine would be disappointed with that. It took the gentlest push to fold it back in. She plunged her fingers deeper, to ensure all was in order, and felt Augustine clench around them hard, the ghost of another orgasm washing over him.
They would have to check on him later. For now, she was very much satisfied with what was left of him: not much. She pulled his legs down until he was lying flat, made sure that he was in a position where he could rest, and turned back toward Lysandre, who was sitting back on his knees, hunched over slightly, reminiscent of a large and uncharacteristically sheepish pyroar. He didn't meet her eyes, but she could tell he was still halfway there, his mind stuck on everything that had occurred. She had to bring him down nice and soft, to spare him any lingering anguish.
"Darling," she said sweetly, to get him to look up, "come here. Do you want to help me?"
Sluggishly, as if he was trying to wake up from a long dream, Lysandre nodded. While he watched, Diantha slipped her panties down at last, before lying down next to Augustine, who remained unresponsive. She gestured for Lysandre to get closer, opening her legs to give him access and show him what she wanted from him. His expression mellowed all at once, any worry disappearing to be replaced with the quiet contentment of knowing his place.
She didn't have to say it. He leaned forward, wrapped his hands around her thighs, and grunted at her scent. His big tongue lapped her up like he was starved for it. She wrapped her legs around his neck and he let out another grunt, so deep it was almost a growl, and redoubled his efforts, his beard tickling the sensitive skin as he licked into her with renewed fervor.
It took merely a few breaths for her to come, as worked up as she was. He kept it up, just the way he knew she liked, at the very edge of being too much, a hint of teeth on her throbbing clit enough to send her in another wave.
He stopped as soon as she let him go, demonstrating his flawless training once again. She stretched her back, took a deep, long breath, and released it slowly.
Lysandre kept leaning toward her, his face an absolute mess, covered in her juices, his beard filthy with it, searching for further instructions. With a soft, exhausted smile, she beckoned him to her side, opposite where Augustine was still lying, unresponsive.
She gave the latter a tap on the ribs with the back of her hand, and he groaned in response.
"How are you feeling?" she asked him, while Lysandre curled against her like the big feline pokémon that he so desperately thrived to me.
"Like I've been turned inside out," Augustine said. He rolled over to raise his eyebrows in her direction, though the effect was someone nullified by his hair being all over the place, long, dark bangs draped over his face. "Coincidentally."
Diantha let out a very undignified snort. "I suppose I should congratulate you on your magical ass. That this had never happened before is a testimony to all it's capable of enduring."
"That this had never happened before is a testimony of all I've been missing out on," Augustine protested. "Next time, I'm making Lysandre suck on it."
Lysandre, his chin hooked over the top of Diantha's head, made a non-committal sound, fooling none of them. They all knew he was desperate at the very idea of getting his lips around Augustine Sycamore's destroyed asshole.
"Now there's a thought," Diantha said. Then, she added, "Only you would look forward to doing this again."
Who knew if this was true, but it made Augustine laugh, in a series of hiccups that shook the whole bed, and that was all she wanted. A warm bed, some great – if eventful – sex, and two men who loved her as much as they loved each other.
What else could a woman ask for?