Don't Stay
Title: Don't Stay
Fandom: Pokémon
- Characters: Grimsley, Marshal, Alder, Shauntal
Rating: PG
Prompt: Marshal/Grimsley Write a fanfiction based on http://i.imgur.com/vLdWh.jpg (this comic). Prefer English names, but you guys can use Japanese if you want.
Notes: Prompt for pokanon. Helsingshipping and wannabe Tempestiveshipping.
Why can't I be calm around you?
There was something about loving someone dangerously to the point of drowning. One is simply ready to pitch into the watery abyss, toeing the precipice and poised to dive down, deeply with no rescue to speak of. It'll kill a person in the end, but sometimes, it is not their choice whether they're at that edge or not. And it feels a little like obsession.
Grimsley had never considered himself any such person. He kept himself composed, he did not insinuate anything, and he certainly did not stalk. Watching Marshal trade blows with Alder and his Mienshao was simply killing time, which just happened to have the additional bonus of admiring the way Marshal's body moved. And he was slick and smooth about it when Shauntal asked him why he was bothering; she was the more suspicious one, getting flustered and a little bubbly in her excuse. He didn't think about it, thought it was a writer thing.
He thought he was a fool, seeing them together, Shauntal being supported by Marshal's strong arms, leaning in so close. It shut his mind down, scared him, threw up a protective mask of composure, thought it was a mirage, but even Zoroark's illusion wouldn't stab him so. So numb, it was a farce to pretend it was something to consider, to ponder.
Too intimate. Breathing got harder as he backed away.
Why can't you make me calm?
They crossed paths again like it was nothing out of the ordinary, like Grimsley was fine. Left to stew in his own world, he tried valiantly not to get angry, like it was some betrayal when Marshal wasn't anywhere near his to monopolize. But seeing Marshal's clueless, almost worried (realizing?) expression at the way Grimsley was trying to brush him off, it was the tree falling in the woods for no one to hear.
"Did I do something??"
You came into existence, Grimsley wanted to say, for this perfectly flawed man would still exist if Grimsley had never met him, and the crime then became one of missed opportunity. Grimsley had been happy to watch, memorize, fantasize, even if it hurt. Pain made happiness, too, because to have the luxury to want was a privilege in itself, and some could be content with that, including sacrifices.
Marshal was, after all, aiming for the top, the potential successor to Alder's champion mantle, a groomed heir. He'd lead them all, someday, and Grimsley had flashed-convinced himself, "That wasn't right." Grimsley had once aimed for that spot, too, years ago when the world was bathed in the black and white of childhood. Being an Elite was a dream in its own, but...
"Fight me." Not battle, but fight. Because MarshalShauntalMarshalShauntal. Marshal wasn't supposed to be taken by an equal. Maybe some nice girl from some small village who can't battle for crap, but not...not Shauntal, who he didn't suspect that seriously, who swooped in like nothing, that could cling and look natural and she was pretty, but he was there first and why couldn't it be him?!
And there was a painful, heart-wrenching satisfaction that Marshal got what Grimsley wanted, because Marshal was already steeled and looked just like he did against any of his serious opponents, so what else would it take to get
Why can't I win against you?
In the way of type advantages, Grimsley hadn't stood a chance. Taking on the prince of the palace was equally dangerous, because both he and Marshal fought like champions, but only one was destined to be so.
And it was partner after partner, anger driving him, which wasn't fair, because Grimsley still had no right to be angry over Marshal. There was no claim, no announcement of intentions. He should be angry only at himself, not the clueless dolt that Shauntal should not be making eyes at.
Liepard had dared to look back at him, almost knowingly and possibly willing to disobey (it liked Mienshao, as a friend), and maybe that's when it began to slip away, the rest of the rationality. Because it hurt, it hurt, ithurtithurtithurtithurtithurtithurtithurtithurt it hurt. These weren't the sort of battles you make your partners fight, not blinded as he was. Liepard knew, but Grimsley wanted (needed? desired?) to go on. Had to find a way to make Marshal hurt, that big, awkward heart of his. Just show Marshal that he can't always get what he wants. Something, anything. He needed to make it stop hurting!
But Grimlsey truly wasn't a match for Marshal. Pouring his fevered feelings into commanding his pokémon had left him cold, exhausted, and he still had Bisharp left. But even one more couldn't win this, and Marshal keyed in on that. It was a quiet battlefield that Marshal crossed, as Grimsley mind raced to grasp something coherent that wasn't a bubble of panic the closer Marshal came.
Panic did set in when Marshal was in arm's length, and it was so hard to breathe, to move, when an arm shot out--
Grimsley began to burn again, thawing uncomfortably, as he was pulled into a kiss so raw, a thing of his imagination. Pulled, anchored, the life force sucked out of him as he opened his mouth reflexively to inhale, and found a tongue invading it, willing to dance. Grimsley pushed at him, and it seemed only with reluctance was he released. Inhale, exhale, inhale-- Stolen again, just as forcefully. Autopilot kicked in, and Grimsley met Marshal blow for blow, for once.
And when it stopped, there still weren't any answers. But Marshal's fingers flexed on his nape, and Grimsley tried shaking them off, in denial, but Marshal held him close, inescapable.
...What just happened?
Why can't you help me?
"I'm sorry. I'm sorry."
"...It wasn't even your fault," he lamented, and maybe it was more to himself than to any other ears.
Because he had jumped off that precipice himself and drowned.
Why can't I stop?
BONUS:
Alder had returned and Shauntal was not mentally prepared, always needing time to keep herself composed and having to know that he was returning before she crossed his path.
But there he was, in the flesh, and Shauntal's notebook rushed up to hide her face below her eyes, to keep a hot blush hidden. "Welcome home," she said, when he was close enough.
"Always good to be back," he said, with a gruff-but-pleasant smile, as he mercifully passed right by her. Just as she was about to sigh in relief, however, he looked back, quizzically, and asked, "Did you do something with your hair? You look different, Shauny."
She almost died of heart failure.
Fandom: Pokémon
- Characters: Grimsley, Marshal, Alder, Shauntal
Rating: PG
Prompt: Marshal/Grimsley Write a fanfiction based on http://i.imgur.com/vLdWh.jpg (this comic). Prefer English names, but you guys can use Japanese if you want.
Notes: Prompt for pokanon. Helsingshipping and wannabe Tempestiveshipping.
Why can't I be calm around you?
There was something about loving someone dangerously to the point of drowning. One is simply ready to pitch into the watery abyss, toeing the precipice and poised to dive down, deeply with no rescue to speak of. It'll kill a person in the end, but sometimes, it is not their choice whether they're at that edge or not. And it feels a little like obsession.
Grimsley had never considered himself any such person. He kept himself composed, he did not insinuate anything, and he certainly did not stalk. Watching Marshal trade blows with Alder and his Mienshao was simply killing time, which just happened to have the additional bonus of admiring the way Marshal's body moved. And he was slick and smooth about it when Shauntal asked him why he was bothering; she was the more suspicious one, getting flustered and a little bubbly in her excuse. He didn't think about it, thought it was a writer thing.
He thought he was a fool, seeing them together, Shauntal being supported by Marshal's strong arms, leaning in so close. It shut his mind down, scared him, threw up a protective mask of composure, thought it was a mirage, but even Zoroark's illusion wouldn't stab him so. So numb, it was a farce to pretend it was something to consider, to ponder.
Too intimate. Breathing got harder as he backed away.
Why can't you make me calm?
They crossed paths again like it was nothing out of the ordinary, like Grimsley was fine. Left to stew in his own world, he tried valiantly not to get angry, like it was some betrayal when Marshal wasn't anywhere near his to monopolize. But seeing Marshal's clueless, almost worried (realizing?) expression at the way Grimsley was trying to brush him off, it was the tree falling in the woods for no one to hear.
"Did I do something??"
You came into existence, Grimsley wanted to say, for this perfectly flawed man would still exist if Grimsley had never met him, and the crime then became one of missed opportunity. Grimsley had been happy to watch, memorize, fantasize, even if it hurt. Pain made happiness, too, because to have the luxury to want was a privilege in itself, and some could be content with that, including sacrifices.
Marshal was, after all, aiming for the top, the potential successor to Alder's champion mantle, a groomed heir. He'd lead them all, someday, and Grimsley had flashed-convinced himself, "That wasn't right." Grimsley had once aimed for that spot, too, years ago when the world was bathed in the black and white of childhood. Being an Elite was a dream in its own, but...
"Fight me." Not battle, but fight. Because MarshalShauntalMarshalShauntal. Marshal wasn't supposed to be taken by an equal. Maybe some nice girl from some small village who can't battle for crap, but not...not Shauntal, who he didn't suspect that seriously, who swooped in like nothing, that could cling and look natural and she was pretty, but he was there first and why couldn't it be him?!
And there was a painful, heart-wrenching satisfaction that Marshal got what Grimsley wanted, because Marshal was already steeled and looked just like he did against any of his serious opponents, so what else would it take to get
Why can't I win against you?
In the way of type advantages, Grimsley hadn't stood a chance. Taking on the prince of the palace was equally dangerous, because both he and Marshal fought like champions, but only one was destined to be so.
And it was partner after partner, anger driving him, which wasn't fair, because Grimsley still had no right to be angry over Marshal. There was no claim, no announcement of intentions. He should be angry only at himself, not the clueless dolt that Shauntal should not be making eyes at.
Liepard had dared to look back at him, almost knowingly and possibly willing to disobey (it liked Mienshao, as a friend), and maybe that's when it began to slip away, the rest of the rationality. Because it hurt, it hurt, ithurtithurtithurtithurtithurtithurtithurtithurt it hurt. These weren't the sort of battles you make your partners fight, not blinded as he was. Liepard knew, but Grimsley wanted (needed? desired?) to go on. Had to find a way to make Marshal hurt, that big, awkward heart of his. Just show Marshal that he can't always get what he wants. Something, anything. He needed to make it stop hurting!
But Grimlsey truly wasn't a match for Marshal. Pouring his fevered feelings into commanding his pokémon had left him cold, exhausted, and he still had Bisharp left. But even one more couldn't win this, and Marshal keyed in on that. It was a quiet battlefield that Marshal crossed, as Grimsley mind raced to grasp something coherent that wasn't a bubble of panic the closer Marshal came.
Panic did set in when Marshal was in arm's length, and it was so hard to breathe, to move, when an arm shot out--
Grimsley began to burn again, thawing uncomfortably, as he was pulled into a kiss so raw, a thing of his imagination. Pulled, anchored, the life force sucked out of him as he opened his mouth reflexively to inhale, and found a tongue invading it, willing to dance. Grimsley pushed at him, and it seemed only with reluctance was he released. Inhale, exhale, inhale-- Stolen again, just as forcefully. Autopilot kicked in, and Grimsley met Marshal blow for blow, for once.
And when it stopped, there still weren't any answers. But Marshal's fingers flexed on his nape, and Grimsley tried shaking them off, in denial, but Marshal held him close, inescapable.
...What just happened?
Why can't you help me?
"I'm sorry. I'm sorry."
"...It wasn't even your fault," he lamented, and maybe it was more to himself than to any other ears.
Because he had jumped off that precipice himself and drowned.
Why can't I stop?
BONUS:
Alder had returned and Shauntal was not mentally prepared, always needing time to keep herself composed and having to know that he was returning before she crossed his path.
But there he was, in the flesh, and Shauntal's notebook rushed up to hide her face below her eyes, to keep a hot blush hidden. "Welcome home," she said, when he was close enough.
"Always good to be back," he said, with a gruff-but-pleasant smile, as he mercifully passed right by her. Just as she was about to sigh in relief, however, he looked back, quizzically, and asked, "Did you do something with your hair? You look different, Shauny."
She almost died of heart failure.