The water was almost too hot. That was the point. Ash let his head fall back against the warm rock, eyes closed, the ache in his shoulders from three days of walking finally loosening its grip. Steam curled off the surface in lazy ribbons, beading on his eyelids, his chest, the backs of his hands where they rested on the stone. The hot spring sat in a hollow at the edge of the forest, the water a milky blue-green, the late afternoon light filtering through the trees in long golden shafts. Nothing but the sound of water lapping rock and the distant call of a Pidgey somewhere up the slope.
He'd found this place by accident about a month ago, on his way back from the Johto border. A bend in the trail, a wisp of steam rising through the ferns, and there it was. He'd told himself it was just a good place to soak out the soreness. And it was. But it had also become something else, something he didn't think about too hard when he was awake and alone with it.
The ritual. That was what he called it, on the rare occasions he let himself call it anything at all.
Every few weeks, when the tension built up in him like pressure in a Poké Ball, he'd find a private place and take care of it. Quick, efficient, the way he did everything else. But here, in the warmth of the spring, it was different. Slower. He let the heat work into his muscles first, let his mind go blank, and then his hand would drift down of its own accord, finding him already half-hard beneath the surface of the water.
He sighed, the sound swallowed by the steam. His fingers wrapped around his cock, stroking slowly, lazily, the way he liked when there was no rush. The water made everything slick, the heat making his skin feel hyperaware, every inch of him alive to the touch. He was fully hard now, straining against his own grip, and he let his hips roll just slightly, pushing into his fist.
It was good. It was always good. But it was also—
Lonely. The word surfaced unbidden, and he pushed it back down. This wasn't about that. It was just a release. A way to keep his head clear for battles, for training, for the long road ahead. Brock had always been the one who chased after every girl they met, and Ash had never understood it. He didn't need that. He had his Pokémon, his journey, his goal.
He had this.
His thumb swept over the head of his cock, and he bit his lip, a low sound escaping him. The steam was thick now, curling around him like a blanket, and he let his eyes close again, letting the feeling build. He was close, not quite there, but close. His hand moved faster, the rhythm of it familiar and easy, and he let his mind go blank—
—and then a shadow fell across the pool.
His eyes snapped open.
Misty stood at the edge of the spring, frozen mid-step, one sandal hovering over the wet stone. Her other sandal was already down, her towel draped over one shoulder, her mouth slightly open. Her green eyes were wide, fixed on him, on the place beneath the water where his hand was wrapped around his cock.
She'd been here long enough to see it. Long enough to know exactly what he was doing.
For a long, terrible second, neither of them moved. Ash's hand was still on his cock, frozen mid-stroke, his heart hammering so loud he was sure she could hear it. The steam swirled between them, and he could see her face clearly now, the freckles across her nose, the way her hair was pulled back in its usual ponytail, still dry.
She hadn't been planning to get in yet. She'd just been walking by, and she'd seen him, and she'd stopped.
"Misty—" he started, his voice cracking.
She didn't move. Her eyes were still locked on him, but something in her expression shifted. Not shock, exactly. Something else. Something he couldn't read.
"I didn't—" he tried again, his hand finally letting go of his cock, dropping to the water's surface as if that would somehow undo what she'd seen. "I thought I was alone. I didn't know you were—"
"I know." Her voice was quiet, steady. She didn't look away. "I saw."
The silence stretched between them, thick as the steam. Ash felt his face burning, and it wasn't from the heat of the water. He'd never been caught before. He'd never even thought about being caught. This was his private thing, his ritual, the one thing he didn't have to share with anyone.
And now Misty had seen it. Seen him. His hand on his cock, his hips rolling, the look on his face that he hadn't even realized he was making.
"I should go," she said, but she didn't move. Her hand was still on the towel at her shoulder, her body still angled toward him, and she was still looking at him with those wide green eyes. "I should—"
"You don't have to." The words came out before he could stop them, and he felt his face burn even hotter. "I mean—I didn't mean—you don't have to leave. If you wanted to—the water's nice. It's warm."
He was babbling. He knew he was babbling. He sounded like an idiot, like the ten-year-old he was, and he wanted to sink under the surface and never come up.
But Misty didn't laugh. She didn't roll her eyes. She just stood there, watching him, and then, very slowly, she reached up and pulled the towel off her shoulder.
"You're not like Brock," she said, and it wasn't a question.
Ash blinked. "What?"
"Brock. He's always—" She gestured vaguely, a flush creeping up her own cheeks. "You know. He's always chasing after girls, making comments, trying to get their attention. But you never do that. You never even seem to notice."
"I notice," Ash said, his voice coming out rougher than he meant it to. "I just—"
"You just do this instead." She said it matter-of-factly, not judgmental. "You take care of it yourself. Alone. In secret."
He didn't know what to say to that. It was true, but hearing her say it made it sound so—so pathetic. Like he was hiding something shameful.
"It's not—" he started.
"I've got hormones too."
The words cut him off cleanly. She was looking at him now, really looking, and there was something in her eyes that he'd never seen before. Something that made his breath catch in his throat.
"What?" he said, his voice barely a whisper.
"I said I've got hormones too." She stepped forward, her bare feet on the wet stone, and she didn't stop until she was at the edge of the pool. "You think you're the only one who feels that way? You think I don't—" She stopped, biting her lip. "I'm not a little girl anymore, Ash. I know what I want."
He couldn't breathe. The steam was too thick, the water too hot, and she was standing there, looking down at him, her yellow tank top clinging to her curves, her denim shorts riding low on her hips, and he couldn't look away.
"What do you want?" he asked, and his voice came out raw, honest, stripped of everything.
She didn't answer. Instead, she sat down on the edge of the pool, her legs dangling in the water, and she looked at him for a long moment. Then she slid in.
The water rippled around her, lapping at his chest, and she sank down on the opposite side of the spring, facing him. The steam curled between them, and he could see the water darkening her clothes, the yellow tank top going translucent where it clung to her skin.
"I want you to fuck me," she said.
The words landed like a thunderbolt. Ash felt his cock twitch beneath the water, hardening again, and he knew she could see it, knew she had to see it, because she was looking right at him.
"Misty—"
"Don't." She shook her head, her ponytail swinging. "Don't tell me we're too young, or it's not right, or any of that. I've been thinking about this for months. Ever since—" She stopped, her cheeks flushing. "Ever since I saw you in that gym battle, the way you moved, the way you—" She shook her head again. "I've never done this before. But I want to. With you."
His heart was pounding. He could feel it in his throat, in his temples, in the ache of his cock against his stomach. He wanted to say yes. Every part of him wanted to say yes.
"Are you sure?" he asked, and his voice cracked on the question. "Because if you're not sure—"
"I'm sure." She pushed off the rocky edge, gliding toward him through the water. "I've never been more sure of anything."
She stopped in front of him, the water lapping at her chest, her face inches from his. Her green eyes were bright, determined, and she reached out and put her hand on his thigh beneath the water.
He inhaled sharply. Her hand was warm, small, and it moved slowly up his leg, over his knee, higher, until her fingers brushed against his cock.
"This is what you want, right?" she whispered. "This is what you were doing when I found you."
He couldn't speak. He just nodded, his throat too tight for words.
"Good." Her fingers wrapped around him, and he let out a shaky breath. "Because it's what I want too."
She sank down in front of him, the water breaking around her shoulders, and she looked up at him with those bright green eyes. Her other hand came up to join the first, both of them wrapped around his cock, and she leaned in and pressed her lips to the head.
"Oh," Ash breathed, his hips bucking involuntarily.
She smiled against him, then opened her mouth and took him in.
The heat of her mouth was unlike anything he'd ever felt. The water had been warm, but this was different—wet, tight, alive. Her tongue pressed against the underside of his cock, and she bobbed her head slowly, taking him deeper, her hands working the base in a rhythm that made his head spin.
"Misty—" he gasped, his hands finding her shoulders. "That's—that's so—"
She pulled off just long enough to say, "Good?"
"Yeah." His voice was wrecked. "Yeah, it's good."
She grinned, then took him back in her mouth, deeper this time. She relaxed her throat, and he felt the head of his cock push past the ring of muscle, felt her throat convulse around him, and he groaned, loud and unashamed.
She kept going, bobbing her head faster, her hands gripping his hips to steady herself. The sounds she made were obscene—wet, sucking noises that echoed off the rocks—and he could feel himself getting close, the pressure building low in his belly.
"I'm gonna—" he warned, his hands tightening on her shoulders. "Misty, I'm gonna cum—"
She didn't pull off. She took him deeper, her nose pressed against his stomach, and she swallowed around him as he came, his cock pulsing down her throat.
He cried out, his head thrown back, his body shuddering. She stayed there, taking it all, and when he finally went soft in her mouth, she pulled off slowly, a string of saliva connecting her lips to his cock.
She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, looking up at him with a satisfied smile.
"See?" she said, her voice a little hoarse. "I told you I knew what I wanted."
Ash couldn't speak. He could barely breathe. He just stared at her, his chest heaving, his heart pounding.
And then she reached out of the water, to the small bag she'd left on the rocks, and pulled out a condom.
She tore the wrapper open with her teeth, the sound loud in the quiet, and she looked at him with those bright green eyes, her hand moving back beneath the water.
"Now," she said, "let's do this properly."
Her hand found him beneath the surface, and he felt the cool latex roll down his length, her fingers working with a concentration that made her tongue poke out slightly between her lips. She smoothed the condom to the base, gave him one experimental stroke, and smiled up at him through the steam.
"There," she said. "Now you're ready."
She stood up in the water, and he watched the rivulets run down her yellow tank top, the fabric plastered to her skin, every curve of her outlined against the late afternoon light. Her denim shorts were dark with water, clinging to her hips, and she reached down and hooked her thumbs into the waistband.
He couldn't look away. He didn't want to.
"You're just going to watch?" she asked, and there was a challenge in her voice, that familiar Misty bite, but softer now, edged with something else. "I thought you wanted to do this properly."
He stood up too, water streaming off him, and she watched him rise, her eyes traveling down his body and stopping at the condom-covered length of him standing hard against his stomach. Her breath caught, just slightly, and he saw her throat move as she swallowed.
"Here," he said, and his voice came out steadier than he felt. "Let me."
She let her hands fall to her sides. He reached for the hem of her tank top, and she lifted her arms without being asked, letting him pull it up and over her head. The fabric clung for a moment, then released, and he found himself staring at her breasts for the first time.
They were small, still growing into her body, but perfectly round, her nipples tight and dark against her pale skin. Water beaded on her chest, catching the light, and he watched a single drop roll down the curve of one breast and fall into the pool.
"You're staring," she said, but she didn't sound annoyed. She sounded pleased.
"You're—" He couldn't find the word. "You're beautiful."
Her cheeks flushed, a deep pink that spread down her neck, but she didn't look away. "Now my shorts."
He reached for the button, his fingers fumbling with the wet denim, and she laughed, that familiar Misty laugh, but softer. "Clumsy."
"Shut up."
"Make me."
He got the button open, dragged the zipper down, and pushed the shorts over her hips. They slid down her thighs, and she stepped out of them, and then she was standing in front of him in nothing but a thin pair of white panties, already translucent with water.
He could see the dark triangle of hair beneath the fabric. He could see the way the material clung to the cleft of her, the shape of her through it.
"Those too," he said.
She hooked her fingers into the waistband and pushed them down, slow, deliberate, watching his face the whole time. And then she was naked, standing in the water up to her thighs, and he was looking at the place between her legs for the first time.
She was completely bare. Smooth, soft, the lips of her cunt pink and slightly parted, glistening with water and something else. He could see her clit, a small bud at the top of the cleft, and he wanted to touch it, taste it, put his mouth on her the way she'd put hers on him.
"You're staring again," she whispered.
"I can't help it."
She stepped closer, closing the distance between them until her body was pressed against his, her breasts flattening against his chest, her arms coming up around his neck. She was warm, so warm, and she smelled like the spring and something else, something clean and young and hers.
"I've never done this," she said, her voice barely audible. "I've never—with anyone. I don't know if I'll be any good at it."
"You were good at the other thing."
She laughed, a small breathless sound. "That was different. That was just—"
"Misty." He put his hands on her hips, felt the smooth skin, the curve of her. "I don't care if you're good at it. I just want it to be you."
She looked up at him, her green eyes bright, and then she kissed him.
It was her first kiss. He could tell by the way she hesitated, the way her lips were slightly parted and unsure. He took the lead, tilting his head, pressing his mouth against hers, and she sighed into him, her body relaxing against his.
Her lips were soft. She tasted like the spring water, clean and mineral, and something underneath that was just her. He deepened the kiss, his tongue brushing against her lower lip, and she opened for him, shy at first, then bolder, her tongue meeting his.
His hands moved down her back, over the curve of her ass, and she gasped into his mouth. He squeezed, felt the firm muscle beneath his fingers, and she pressed herself against him, her hips grinding against his cock.
"Ash," she breathed, pulling back just enough to look at him. "I want you inside me."
His heart was pounding. "Are you sure?"
"I've never been more sure of anything." She took his hand and guided it down between her legs, pressing his fingers against her. She was wet, slick, hot, and she shuddered when he touched her. "See? I'm ready."
He slid one finger along her cleft, parting her, and she gasped, her hips bucking against his hand. She was so tight, so small, and he could feel her heat even through the water.
"I'll go slow," he said.
"Don't." She shook her head. "I don't want slow. I want you."
He lifted her, his hands under her thighs, and she wrapped her legs around his waist. Her arms circled his neck, and she looked down at him, her eyes wide, her breathing fast.
"Ready?" he asked.
She nodded.
He lowered her slowly, the head of his cock pressing against her entrance. She was so tight that he could feel every ridge of her, every inch of resistance, and he paused, giving her time to adjust.
"Don't stop," she whispered. "Please don't stop."
He pushed. She cried out, a sharp, breathless sound, her nails digging into his shoulders. He felt her give way, felt the thin barrier break, felt her body open around him, and then he was inside her, buried to the hilt, and she was trembling in his arms.
"Misty—"
"I'm okay." Her voice was strained, but she nodded. "I'm okay. Just—give me a second."
He held still, letting her adjust, feeling her cunt clench around him in slow, rhythmic pulses. She was so hot, so tight, and he could feel her heartbeat through her walls. She was real. This was real. He was inside Misty, and she was letting him.
"Okay," she breathed. "Okay. Move."
He pulled back slowly, almost all the way out, and then pushed back in. She gasped, her eyes going wide, and he did it again, a little faster, a little deeper.
"Oh," she said, and the sound was wonder, pure and unguarded. "Oh, that's—"
"Good?"
"Yeah." She laughed, breathless, tears pricking at the corners of her eyes. "Yeah, it's good. It's really good."
He found a rhythm, slow and deep, and she moved with him, her hips rolling, her body learning his. The water lapped around them, and her breasts bounced with each thrust, and he couldn't stop looking at her, at the way her face changed with every stroke, the way she bit her lip, the way her eyes fluttered closed and then opened again, finding his.
"Faster," she said. "Ash, please, faster."
He obliged, picking up the pace, and she cried out, her head falling back, her body arching into him. He could feel himself getting close, the pressure building low in his belly, and he didn't want it to end. He wanted to stay inside her forever.
"I'm gonna cum," he warned. "Misty, I'm gonna—"
"Do it." She looked at him, her eyes fierce. "Cum inside me. I want to feel it."
He thrust deep, burying himself to the hilt, and he came, his cock pulsing inside her, filling the condom. She gasped as she felt it, her inner walls clenching around him, and he watched her face as she came too, her body shuddering, her mouth falling open in a silent cry.
He held her, his forehead against hers, both of them breathing hard, and he felt her cunt flutter around him, milking the last of his orgasm.
"Wow," she whispered.
"Yeah." He laughed, breathless. "Wow."
She smiled, and then she leaned in and kissed him, soft and sweet, and he felt something shift between them, something he couldn't name.
"So," she said, pulling back, her eyes bright. "Same time next month?"
He blinked. "What?"
"I'm serious." She shrugged, a casualness that didn't quite reach her eyes. "This was—I don't know how to describe it. But I don't want it to be a one-time thing. And I don't want to—I don't want things to get weird between us."
"They're not weird," he said.
"They're not not weird." She laughed. "But I think—I think if we do this, once a month, it could stay not-weird. We're still friends. We still travel together. We just—also do this."
He considered it. Once a month. A secret they'd share, just the two of them.
"Okay," he said.
"Okay?"
"Yeah." He kissed her again, quick and firm. "Once a month."
She grinned, that familiar Misty grin, and he felt the last of the tension drain out of him. The steam curled around them, and the water lapped at their skin, and for a long moment, neither of them moved.
Then she eased off him, wincing slightly, and he saw a thin ribbon of pink dissolve into the water. She looked at it, then at him, and there was something in her eyes — not regret, not fear. Something like claiming.
"I should get dressed," she said softly. "Before someone comes looking."
He nodded, but neither of them moved toward the shore. The water was warm, the light was golden, and the space between them felt smaller than it had an hour ago.
"Same time next month," she repeated, and it sounded like a promise.
She made a small sound, something between a laugh and a sigh, and finally pushed away from him, the water rippling around her waist as she waded toward the shore. He watched her go, the pale curve of her back, the way her hips swayed with each step, the waterline kissing the tops of her thighs before she climbed out onto the smooth stones.
She looked back at him once, water streaming from her hair, and there was a new weight in her green eyes. Not the familiar challenge, not the teasing bite. Something quieter. Something that had her name written on it.
"Coming?" she asked.
He followed her out of the pool, the cool evening air raising goosebumps on his skin. His legs felt unsteady, not from exertion but from the sheer strangeness of standing on solid ground after everything that had happened in the water. She was already gathering her clothes, shaking the water from her tank top, and he watched her hands move with the same concentration she'd had when she rolled the condom down his cock.
"Here." He picked up her denim shorts from where they'd fallen and held them out to her. She took them, and their fingers brushed, and neither of them let go for a moment longer than necessary.
"Thanks." She pulled the shorts up over her hips, wincing slightly as the wet denim settled against her. "I'm going to be sore tomorrow."
"I'm sorry."
"Don't be." She looked up at him, and there was that claiming look again, the one that had made his chest go tight. "I'm not sorry. I don't think I'll ever be sorry about this."
She pulled her tank top over her head, the damp fabric clinging to her breasts, and he could see her nipples hard through the yellow cotton. She saw him looking and raised an eyebrow.
"You're going to have to stop doing that," she said, but her voice was soft, almost fond.
"Doing what?"
"Looking at me like that." She stepped closer, close enough that he could smell the mineral scent of the spring on her skin. "We're going to be traveling together for a long time, Ash. And we agreed—once a month. If you look at me like that every day, I'm not going to be able to keep my end of the deal."
"Maybe that's not a bad thing."
She laughed, that familiar Misty laugh, bright and sharp. "You're impossible." But she said it like it was a compliment. She finished dressing, ran her fingers through her damp hair, and picked up her sandals from the rocks. The sun had sunk lower, painting the sky in shades of orange and pink, and the steam from the spring rose golden in the fading light.
"We should get back to the Pokémon Center," she said. "Brock's probably wondering where we are. He might have dinner ready."
"Yeah." He gathered his own clothes, pulling on his boxers and jeans, the fabric cold against his still-damp skin. He could feel the weight of what they'd done settling between them, not heavy, but present. A secret they'd share, just the two of them.
They walked back along the path in silence, the sounds of the forest around them—the rustle of leaves, the distant call of a Pidgey, the crunch of gravel under their feet. The silence wasn't awkward. It was full, the way a held breath is full.
They reached the edge of the trees, and the Pokémon Center came into view, warm light spilling from its windows. Brock's silhouette was visible in the doorway, and Ash could smell curry on the evening air.
Misty stopped, and he stopped with her.
"Ash." She said his name like it was a question, and he turned to face her. The last of the sunset caught her hair, turning it to fire, and for a moment she looked older than eleven, older than any of the adventures they'd shared. "What happened today—"
"I know." He reached for her hand, and she let him take it. "It stays between us."
"That's not what I was going to say." She squeezed his fingers, her grip firm. "I was going to say—I'm glad it was you. I'm glad it was you, and not some stranger, and not Brock, and not—" She shook her head. "I'm glad it was you."
He didn't know what to say to that. He didn't think there were words. So he just held her hand, the two of them standing at the edge of the trees, the steam from the spring still rising behind them, the lights of the Pokémon Center warm ahead.
"Come on," she said finally, letting go of his hand and starting toward the building. "I'm starving. And if Brock's made curry, I'm going to eat twice."
He followed her, the space between them filled with everything they hadn't said, and he could feel it in his chest, warm and strange. Not love, not yet. But something that might grow into it, if they let it.
At the door, she paused and looked back at him. The light from inside caught her face, and she smiled, that familiar Misty grin, but softer now, edged with the secret they shared.
"Same time next month," she said, and it sounded like a promise.
The rain had been coming down for hours, a steady Hoenn downpour that turned the roads to mud and sent them sprinting the last hundred meters to the Pokémon Center. Ash shook the water from his cap, watching it spatter across the lobby floor. Beside him, Misty wrung out her ponytail with both hands, and May let out a breathless laugh, her red bandanna clinging to her neck.
"I'm soaked," May announced, not sounding particularly upset about it. She peeled the white crop top away from her skin, the wet fabric clinging stubbornly before releasing with a soft, wet sound. "Everything's—" she stopped, plucking at the fabric, "—everything's just stuck to me. I need to get out of these clothes before I catch a cold."
Ash was already looking away, out the window at the rain hammering the glass. The lobby was empty except for the three of them and the nurse behind the counter, who'd handed them their room keys with a practiced smile. He heard the rustle of fabric behind him and tried very hard not to think about it.
Then the top hit the floor.
It made a soft, wet slap against the tile, and Ash's eyes betrayed him, flicking to the sound. May stood there in just her skirt, her chest bare, water still beading on her skin. Her B-cups were small and firm, her nipples drawn tight from the chill, goosebumps rising across her chest. She wasn't moving to cover herself. She wasn't reaching for a towel or a change of clothes. She was just standing there, like this was normal.
"May," Ash said, his voice coming out rougher than he intended. "Your—"
"What?" She looked down at herself, then back up at him, and there was something in her hazel eyes that wasn't innocent. "Oh, this? I was going to borrow one of Misty's shirts. It's not like we haven't seen each other before."
Ash felt the heat rise up his neck. His jeans were still wet from the rain, but that wasn't the only reason they were suddenly uncomfortable. He shifted his weight, hoping the movement went unnoticed.
It didn't.
Misty's green eyes tracked the motion, then dropped to the front of his pants. Her expression didn't change — no surprise, no scandal. Just a slow, knowing curve at the corner of her mouth.
"May," Misty said, her voice calm and light, "do you know why Ash is being so quiet right now?"
May tilted her head, genuinely curious. "He's always quiet when he's tired."
"He's not tired." Misty crossed the lobby toward him, her wet sneakers squeaking on the tile. "He's looking at you."
Ash's mouth went dry. "Misty—"
"What?" She stopped in front of him, close enough that he could smell the rain in her hair. "You think I didn't notice? You think I don't know what that look means?" Her hand found the button of his jeans, and Ash's breath caught in his throat. "I've seen it before."
May's eyes went wide. "Misty, what are you—"
"He's hard, May." Misty unzipped his fly, her fingers working with practiced ease. "Look."
She pulled him out — his cock springing free, already half-hard and thickening fast under her touch. May stared at it, her lips parting, her cheeks flushing a deep pink that spread all the way down her neck.
"Oh," she breathed.
Misty's thumb slid over the head, spreading the bead of moisture that had already gathered there, and Ash hissed through his teeth. "See? He's not tired at all."
May took a step closer, then another. Her eyes were fixed on his cock now, on Misty's hand wrapped around the base, the way her fingers didn't quite meet around his girth. "I've... I've never..."
"Never what?" Misty asked, her voice soft, almost kind.
"Never touched one." May's voice was small. "I've thought about it, but I never—" She swallowed. "I didn't know what it would feel like."
Misty smiled, slow and warm. "Then come find out."
May knelt.
She did it slowly, her hands braced on Ash's thighs, her face level with his cock. Up close, she could see everything — the veins running along the shaft, the flushed head, the way it twitched when Misty gave it a gentle squeeze. She looked up at Ash, her hazel eyes searching his.
"Can I?" she asked.
Ash couldn't speak. He nodded.
May's hand closed around him, her fingers soft and uncertain, and she let out a shaky breath. "It's warm," she said, almost to herself. "And... soft, but not. It's—" She leaned in, pressing her lips to the side of his shaft, a tentative kiss. "—it's kind of amazing."
Misty stepped back, giving them room, but her eyes never left them. She watched as May's tongue darted out, a shy taste of the skin, then another, bolder. Watched as May's mouth opened and took the head in, her lips stretching around him.
"That's it," Misty murmured. "Just like that."
May's cheeks hollowed as she sucked, pulling him deeper. She gagged once, pulled back, tried again. Her hand worked the base while her mouth worked the top, learning his shape, finding a rhythm. The wet sounds filled the empty lobby, muffled by the rain hammering the roof.
Ash's fingers found her hair, not pushing, just resting there. "May," he breathed. "That's—"
She looked up at him, his cock still in her mouth, and there was something in her eyes — pride, maybe, or wonder. She took him deeper, her nose brushing his skin, and held there for a moment before pulling back with a wet pop.
"I want to try something," she said, breathless. "I saw it in a—" She stopped, blushing. "Never mind what I saw it in. Just... sit down."
Ash backed up until his legs hit a chair and he sank into it. May followed him, kneeling between his thighs, and then she was unbuttoning her skirt, letting it fall to the floor. She straddled him, her bare thighs on either side of his, and reached down to guide his cock between her breasts.
They were small but soft, and when she pressed them together around him, Ash's head fell back with a groan. "Fuck."
"Is that okay?" May asked, looking down at where his cock disappeared between her tits. "Is it—"
"It's perfect." Ash's hands found her waist. "Keep going."
May started to move, her breasts sliding up and down his shaft, her nipples dragging over the ridge of his cock. She was clumsy at first, her movements uneven, but she learned fast. She found a rhythm, a slick slide of skin on skin, and when she leaned forward, her mouth met the head of his cock at the top of each stroke.
"Shit," Ash hissed. "May, that's—"
"Good?" She did it again, taking just the head between her lips before sliding back down.
"Yeah." His hands tightened on her waist. "Fuck, yeah."
Misty had moved closer, watching them from a step away. Her hand was in her own shorts, moving slowly, but her eyes were fixed on the two of them. "You're going to need this," she said, and her voice was calm, unhurried, as she pulled a foil packet from her bag.
May looked up, her chest still pressed around Ash's cock. "What?"
"A condom. For when you're done with that." Misty held it out, and May took it, her fingers closing around the foil packet. "Closet. Now."
May looked down at the condom in her hand, then back at Ash, still hard and glistening between her breasts. The rain hammered the roof, filling the silence, and she stood up slowly, her legs shaky.
She turned toward the closet door at the back of the lobby, and Ash watched her go, his heart pounding.
Ash's hands trembled against the chair arms. He watched the sway of May's bare back as she walked, the way her damp skirt clung to the curve of her hips, and he was already rising, already moving before his mind caught up with his body. The lobby was a blur of fluorescent light and the steady hiss of rain against the windows, and then Misty's hand closed around his wrist, stopping him.
"Easy," she said, her voice low. "Let her get in there first. You don't want to crowd her."
Ash forced himself to stop, to breathe. He could feel the cool air of the lobby against his cock, still slick from May's mouth, still aching. "I'm not—"
"I know you're not." Misty's thumb traced a slow circle on the inside of his wrist. "But she's nervous. She's never done this before. Give her a second."
The closet door was ajar, a sliver of darkness visible through the gap. Ash could hear May moving inside, the soft rustle of fabric, the scrape of a shelf being shifted. He swallowed hard, his hands clenching at his sides.
"She's got the condom," Misty said, almost to herself. She was watching the door too, her green eyes unreadable. "She's got the condom, and she's in there, and she's waiting."
Ash looked at her. "You're not coming in?"
Misty's mouth curved, but it wasn't quite a smile. "I don't think she wants me in there with her. Not for this." She paused, and something flickered behind her eyes — something that might have been sadness, or might have been relief. "This one's yours."
The words settled between them, heavy with meaning Ash didn't fully understand. He opened his mouth to ask, but the closet door creaked open a little wider, and May's voice drifted out, soft and uncertain.
"Ash?"
He moved. The distance was short — a few strides across the lobby — and then he was at the door, one hand on the frame, looking in at her. The closet was small, barely more than a walk-in, lined with shelves stacked with cleaning supplies and spare towels. May stood in the middle of it, her skirt pooled at her feet, the condom still clutched in her hand. The light from the lobby caught the curve of her shoulder, the soft swell of her breasts, the nervous rise and fall of her breathing.
"I don't know how to put this on," she said, holding up the foil packet.
Ash stepped inside, pulling the door mostly shut behind him. The space was tight, their bodies close, the air warm and still. He took the packet from her, his fingers brushing hers, and tore it open with his teeth.
"Here," he said, his voice rough. "Let me show you."
He rolled the condom down over himself, his hands working fast, and May watched with wide eyes, her lips parted. When he was done, she reached out and touched him — just her fingertips, tracing the thin latex, feeling the heat beneath.
"It's different," she whispered. "With this on. It's—"
"I know." Ash's hand found her waist, pulling her closer. "But it's still me."
She looked up at him, her hazel eyes searching his, and then she rose onto her toes and kissed him — soft at first, tentative, then deeper, her arms winding around his neck. Ash bent to meet her, one hand sliding into her damp hair, the other finding the small of her back. She tasted like rain and something sweeter, and when she pulled back, her cheeks were flushed.
"I've wanted to do that for a while," she admitted.
"Yeah?"
"Yeah." She reached down between them, her fingers wrapping around his cock through the condom. "I just didn't know how to ask."
Ash's breath caught as she stroked him, slow and experimental, learning the feel of him through the latex. "You could have just—"
"I know." She smiled, small and shy. "I'm asking now."
She guided him backward until his legs hit the edge of a low shelf stacked with folded towels. He sat, the surface creaking under his weight, and May stepped between his thighs, looking down at him. The light from the lobby filtered through the gap in the door, painting her in soft stripes of fluorescent white and shadow. She reached behind herself, unclasping her bra and letting it fall, and then she was bare in front of him, her breasts rising and falling with her quickened breath.
"Is this okay?" she asked.
Ash couldn't find words. He reached for her, his hands finding her waist, pulling her close until her thighs pressed against his. She let out a small sound, half gasp, half laugh, and then she was settling onto his lap, her knees on either side of his hips, the heat of her bare cunt pressing against his cock through the condom.
"I've never done this either," she whispered, her forehead against his. "So if I do it wrong—"
"You won't." Ash's hands slid down her back, finding the curve of her ass. "Just go slow."
She nodded, biting her lip, and reached down between them. He felt her fingers wrap around his cock, guiding it, and then she was lowering herself, the head pressing against her entrance. She paused, trembling, and Ash held his breath.
"Okay," she breathed. "Okay."
She sank down, and the world narrowed to the tight, wet heat of her around him. May gasped, her nails digging into his shoulders, and Ash groaned, his head falling back against the shelf. She was so tight, so hot, and she took him inch by inch, her body stretching around him, her breath coming in short, sharp pants against his neck.
"Fuck," she whimpered. "You're so—"
"You're doing so good," Ash managed, his hands steadying her hips. "Just breathe."
She did, a shaky inhale, and then she was fully seated, her cunt clenching around him, her forehead pressed to his. For a moment they stayed like that, joined, silent except for the rain hammering the roof and the distant hum of the Pokémon Center's machines.
Then May moved.
It was hesitant at first, a small rock of her hips, testing the sensation. Then another, bolder, and Ash's hands tightened on her waist as she found a rhythm. She rode him slowly, her eyes squeezed shut, her lips parted, and every movement drew a soft sound from her throat that went straight through him.
"Ash," she gasped. "Ash, it's—"
"I know." His voice was wrecked. "I know."
She sped up, her thighs working, her breasts bouncing with the motion. The closet was warm and close, smelling of detergent and dust and the two of them, and Ash let himself fall into it, into her, his hands gripping her hips, guiding her, matching her rhythm with shallow thrusts of his own. She cried out, a sharp, breathless sound, and he felt her clench around him, felt her come undone on top of him, her body shuddering against his.
"That's it," he groaned. "That's it, May."
She collapsed against him, her face buried in his neck, her breath hot and ragged. He could feel her heart pounding against his chest, and he held her there, his hand stroking her damp hair, his cock still buried inside her.
"I didn't think it would feel like that," she whispered.
"Like what?"
"Like—" She lifted her head, her hazel eyes wet and bright. "Like I was the only person in the world."
Ash didn't know what to say to that. He kissed her instead, soft and slow, and she melted into him, her hips beginning to move again, a slow, rolling motion that made him hiss through his teeth.
"Again?" he asked.
"Again," she agreed, and she was already lifting herself, already taking him deeper, her hands braced on his chest. The closet door was still open a crack, and through it, Ash could see Misty standing in the lobby, her hand still in her shorts, her green eyes fixed on them. She didn't look away. She didn't stop them. She just watched, and after a long moment, she smiled — small, and sad, and knowing.
May's rhythm faltered, then stopped. She sat back on his thighs, her chest heaving, and looked through the crack in the door. Misty's hand had stilled in her shorts. The smile hadn't left her face.
"You're watching," May said. Not accusing. Just noticing.
"I'm making sure you're okay."
May's fingers found Ash's, lacing through them. "I'm more than okay." She looked down at him, her hair falling around her face, and there was a new steadiness in her eyes. "I want you to watch. I want you to see."
Misty's hand emerged from her shorts. She didn't move toward them. She leaned against the counter, arms crossed, and nodded once.
May turned back to Ash. She lifted herself until just the head of his cock stayed inside her, then sank down again, slow, taking all of him. She held there, her cunt clenching around him, and let out a breath that was almost a laugh.
"You feel so good," she whispered. "I didn't know it could feel like this. I didn't know I could feel like this."
She started to move — not the hesitant rocking from before, but something deeper, her hips rolling in a circle at the bottom of each stroke. Ash's hands found her waist, then slid up her ribs, his thumbs brushing the undersides of her breasts. She arched into his touch, and a sound escaped her that was half gasp, half moan.
"That's it," she breathed. "Don't stop."
He didn't. His thumbs circled her nipples, and she rode him harder, her thighs slick with her own wetness, the sounds of their bodies filling the small closet. The shelf creaked under them. A bottle of cleaning solution rattled with each thrust.
"Ash." His name came out ragged. "Ash, I'm going to —"
"Come on," he said, pulling her down onto him, seating himself as deep as he could go. "Come on, May."
She came with a cry, her body shuddering around him, her nails raking his shoulders through his shirt. He held her through it, his cock twitching inside her, and when she finally collapsed against him, he could feel her heart pounding against his chest like a wild thing.
"I want you to come," she said, her voice muffled against his neck. "I want to feel you."
"May, the condom —"
"I know." She lifted her head, her eyes bright. "I just want to feel you come inside me. Even with it on. I want to know what it feels like when you —" She couldn't finish the sentence. She didn't have to.
Ash's hand slid into her damp hair, and he kissed her, deep and slow, and then he started to move beneath her, thrusting up into her with a rhythm that made her gasp against his mouth. She clung to him, her legs wrapped around his waist, and he fucked her like that, hard and deep, until he felt the pressure building at the base of his spine.
"May." His voice was strained. "May, I'm close."
"Do it," she breathed. "Come inside me. I want to feel it."
He came with a groan, his hips bucking beneath her, his cock pulsing inside her as the condom filled. She felt it — the heat, the fullness, the way he shuddered against her — and she kissed him through it, swallowing his sounds, holding him until he went still.
For a long moment, neither of them moved. The rain had softened to a steady patter on the roof. The closet smelled of them, of sex and sweat and the faint chemical tang of cleaning supplies.
"I think I understand now," May whispered.
"Understand what?"
"Why Misty looks at you like that." She touched his face, her thumb tracing the line of his jaw. "Why she wanted to share you."
Ash didn't know what to say. He kissed her forehead instead, and she laughed, soft and warm, and climbed off him carefully. The condom came away with a wet sound, and she held it for a moment, looking at it, before tying it off and dropping it into the small trash can by the shelf.
Misty was waiting when they emerged. Her arms were still crossed, her expression unreadable, but there was something soft at the corner of her mouth.
"You okay?" she asked May.
May nodded, her cheeks flushed, her hair a mess. "I'm —" She laughed, a little breathless. "I'm really okay."
Misty's eyes moved to Ash, and something passed between them — a question, an answer, a promise. She didn't say it out loud. She just reached out and smoothed a strand of hair from May's face, a gesture so gentle it made Ash's chest ache.
"Let's get you cleaned up," Misty said. "Both of you."
The Pokémon Center's showers were blessedly empty. They took turns under the hot spray, washing the rain and the sex from their skin, and by the time they emerged in fresh clothes, the storm had passed. The lobby was dark, the nurse gone, a single lamp burning by the front desk.
They found the room they'd been given — two beds, a window looking out at the clearing sky, the last of the clouds edged in silver. May claimed the bed by the window, and Ash took the other, and Misty stood in the middle of the room, looking between them.
"I'll take the floor," she said.
"Don't be stupid." May patted the space beside her. "This bed's big enough for two."
Misty hesitated. Then she crossed the room and lay down beside May, and May curled into her, her head on Misty's shoulder, her eyes already closing. Ash watched them from his bed — the way May's hand found Misty's, the way Misty's arm came around her, the way they fit together like they'd been doing this for years.
"Goodnight, Ash," May murmured.
"Goodnight."
The lights went out. The room settled into the quiet of breathing and the distant hum of the Pokémon Center's machines. Ash lay on his back, staring at the ceiling, his body still humming from the closet, his mind turning over everything that had happened.
He must have drifted off, because the next thing he knew, there was warmth beside him. A hand on his chest. Breath on his neck.
"May?" He was still half-asleep, his voice thick.
"Shh." The voice was soft, familiar. "Go back to sleep."
He felt the sheets shift, felt the weight of someone settling between his legs. His cock was already half-hard, stirring at the touch, and then there was a mouth on him — warm and wet and sure — and he was fully awake.
"Misty?"
She didn't answer. Her hand wrapped around the base of his cock, and she took him into her mouth, deep, her throat opening around him. He gasped, his hips lifting off the bed, and she took him deeper still, her nose brushing his skin.
He looked down. In the dim light from the window, he could see her — her orange hair spilling across his thighs, her green eyes half-lidded, looking up at him as she swallowed him whole. She held him there, her throat working around him, and then she pulled back, slow, letting him feel every inch of her tongue.
"What are you doing?" he whispered.
She didn't stop. She took him deep again, and this time she held him there, her hand stroking the base, her throat milking him. He heard May shift in the other bed, and he froze, but May didn't wake. She just turned over, still asleep, her breathing even.
Misty pulled off just far enough to speak. "You don't have to be quiet." Her voice was rough, low, doing things to him. "She's not going to wake up."
She took him again, and Ash let his head fall back, his hands finding her hair. He didn't push. He just held on, his fingers tangling in the orange strands, as she worked him with her mouth — slow and deep, then faster, then slow again, a rhythm that drove him out of his mind.
"Misty." His voice was wrecked. "Misty, I'm going to —"
She didn't pull away. She took him deeper, her hand moving in counterpoint to her mouth, and she held him there until he came — a long, shuddering release that seemed to go on forever. She swallowed it all, every drop, her throat working around him, and when she finally pulled off, her lips were slick and her eyes were bright.
"That's for the closet," she said softly.
Ash couldn't speak. He reached for her, but she was already sliding off the bed, already moving toward the door.
"Misty —"
"Go back to sleep, Ash." She paused at the door, her hand on the frame, and looked back at him. "I'll see you next month."
The door clicked shut. Ash lay there, his heart pounding, his body still trembling, and listened to her footsteps fade down the hall.
When he woke, the sun was up and May was sitting on the edge of his bed, already dressed, her hair tied back in its side ponytail.
"Misty's gone," she said.
Ash sat up, blinking. "What?"
"She left a note." May held out a scrap of paper. "She said she's heading back to Kanto. She said —" May's voice caught, and she read from the note. "She said you're in good hands."
Ash took the note. The handwriting was small and neat, Misty's careful script.
Ash — I'm heading back to Kanto. May's got you. Don't let her go.
He read it twice, then folded it and put it in his pocket. May was watching him, her hazel eyes soft and a little uncertain.
"Are you okay?" she asked.
Ash looked at her — at the girl who'd knelt in a Pokémon Center lobby, who'd taken his cock in her mouth without knowing what she was doing, who'd ridden him in a closet until she came undone, who was looking at him now like he was the only person in the world.
He reached out and took her hand.
"Yeah," he said. "I think I am."
May smiled, small and shy, and squeezed his hand back. Outside, the sun was rising over Hoenn, and somewhere on the road north, a girl with orange hair was walking toward Kanto, carrying a secret that belonged to the three of them now.
For the next two weeks, it rained. Not the soft Kanto drizzle he was used to — Hoenn storms that rolled in off the sea and parked over the routes, turning dirt paths to mud and forcing them to shelter under awnings and in caves. They'd made it as far as Oldale Town before the sky opened up and refused to close, and now the three of them stood in the Pokémon Center lobby, dripping onto the tile, their clothes plastered to their skin.
May shook her head like a wet Growlithe, sending droplets flying. "I hate this. I hate it so much." She peeled her white crop top away from her chest, wincing as the damp fabric dragged across her skin. "I'm never going to be dry again."
Nurse Joy barely glanced up from her terminal. "The showers are down the hall. Your room's ready — key's on the desk."
They found the room, two beds and a window streaked with rain. Ash dumped his soaked pack in the corner and pulled off his jacket, wringing water onto the floor. Misty was already in the bathroom, and the sound of the shower turning on was almost drowned out by the rain hammering the roof.
May stood in the middle of the room, shivering. Her shirt was a second skin, clinging to every line of her, and her denim shorts had gone dark with water. She looked at the bathroom door, then at Ash, then back at the door.
"I can't wait," she said. "I'm going to freeze to death."
She pulled the shirt over her head.
Ash's brain short-circuited. She wasn't wearing a bra — she'd never been wearing a bra, the wet fabric had been hiding it, and now her breasts were just there, pale and soft, her nipples hard from the cold. She dropped the shirt on the floor and reached for her shorts, shimmying them down her hips, and then she was standing in nothing but her panties, which were just as soaked as everything else.
She looked up at him, and she must have seen something on his face, because her cheeks went pink. But she didn't cover herself. She just stood there, goosebumps rising on her skin, and said, "Sorry. I couldn't —"
"It's fine." His voice came out strangled.
The bathroom door opened. Misty stepped out in a towel, her hair dripping, and stopped dead. Her eyes went from May's bare chest to Ash's face, and something flickered in them — surprise, then a slow, knowing smile.
"May," she said. "You're going to give him a heart attack."
May looked down at herself, then back up, and to Ash's amazement, she laughed. "He's seen me before."
Misty raised an eyebrow. "Not like this."
It was true. In the closet, it had been dark and frantic, all hands and heat. This was different. This was May standing in the middle of a brightly lit room, her skin still damp, her nipples tight, looking at him with an openness that made his mouth go dry.
His cock was already stirring. He couldn't help it. She was right there, and she wasn't hiding, and every time he blinked he saw the curve of her breasts, the dip of her waist, the way her panties clung to her hips.
"Ash." Misty's voice was low, almost amused. "You're staring."
"I'm —" He tore his eyes away. "Sorry. I should —"
"Don't." May crossed the room toward him, her bare feet silent on the tile. She stopped in front of him, close enough that he could feel the cold radiating off her skin. "Don't be sorry."
"May, I —"
She reached out and touched his chest, her fingers cold through his damp shirt. "You liked watching me, didn't you? In the closet. You liked watching me ride you."
He couldn't deny it. He couldn't say anything at all.
Behind him, Misty moved. He heard her footsteps, felt her hands on his waist, and then she was pulling his shirt up, tugging it over his head. He didn't resist. Her fingers found his belt, undid it with a practiced click, and his jeans fell to the floor.
May's breath caught. His cock was hard now, straining against his boxers, and Misty hooked her fingers under the waistband and pulled them down.
He was bare in front of her, and May was looking at him with wide eyes, her lips parted.
"Go on," Misty said softly, her hand finding his cock, wrapping around the base. "You know what to do."
May dropped to her knees.
Her hands came up first, trembling, cupping him, learning the weight of him. Then her mouth — warm and wet and hesitant, taking just the head, her tongue circling the tip like she was tasting something new. Ash gasped, his hand finding her hair, and she took him deeper, her cheeks hollowing as she sucked.
Misty's hand was still on his cock, stroking the base in counterpoint to May's mouth. "That's it," she murmured. "Show him what you learned."
May's eyes fluttered up to meet his, and there was something in them — not shyness anymore, but a kind of wonder. She took him deeper, her hand wrapping around what her mouth couldn't reach, and she worked him with a rhythm that was clumsy but earnest, her tongue tracing the vein on the underside.
"May." His voice was wrecked. "That's — that's so good."
She hummed around him, and the vibration shot through him like lightning. She pulled off, gasping, a string of spit connecting her lips to his cock. "I want to try something. Misty showed me."
She pressed her breasts together, her soft B-cups framing his cock, and leaned forward. The warmth of her chest closed around him, slick and tight, and she began to move, sliding him between the curves of her breasts, her tongue flicking out to catch the tip each time it emerged.
"Oh," Ash breathed. "Oh, May."
She looked up at him, her eyes bright, her breasts slick with her own spit, and she kept going — faster now, her hands guiding him, her nipples brushing his skin. Misty moved behind her, crouching down, and her hand joined May's, stroking him in time with her thrusts.
"He's close," Misty said, and it wasn't a question. She could feel it, the way his cock twitched, the way his breathing had gone ragged.
May pulled away, her chest heaving, and looked up at him. "Not yet. I want to feel you. I want to feel you inside me."
Misty reached into her pocket and pulled out a condom. She tore it open with her teeth, and May took it from her, rolling it down his length with trembling fingers.
"Where?" Ash asked, his voice barely a whisper.
May looked around the room. The bathroom door was open, the shower still running, steam curling into the air. The closet — the Pokémon Center had a closet, a narrow door by the window — she pointed at it.
"There," she said. "Like last time."
Misty crossed the room and opened the door. It was small, barely big enough for two, but May didn't hesitate. She pulled Ash inside, and Misty closed the door behind them, leaving them in the dark.
May's hands found his chest, then his waist, then his cock, guiding him. She backed up until her thighs hit the wall, and then she lifted one leg, wrapping it around his hip, and he felt her — wet and hot and ready.
"Do it," she breathed. "Please."
He pushed inside her, and she gasped, her head falling back against the wall. She was so tight, so warm, and she clung to him, her nails digging into his shoulders.
"Yes," she whispered. "Yes, Ash."
He began to move, slow at first, letting her adjust, and then faster, her moans filling the small space. The shelf rattled. A bottle fell and rolled across the floor. Neither of them noticed.
"Misty," May gasped. "Is Misty —"
"She's watching," Ash said, and he wasn't sure how he knew, but he did. He could feel her eyes on them through the crack in the door. "She's watching us."
May's cunt clenched around him, and she let out a sound that was almost a sob. "Good. I want her to see. I want her to see how good you feel."
He fucked her against the wall, deep and hard, her back sliding up and down the shelf, and she took it, her legs wrapped around his waist, her mouth open against his neck. She came with a cry, her body shuddering around him, and he followed her over the edge, spilling into the condom with a groan that was more breath than sound.
They stayed like that for a moment, tangled together, breathing each other's air. Then May laughed, a soft, wondering sound.
"I think I could get used to this," she said.
Ash kissed her forehead. "Me too."
The door opened. Misty stood there, silhouetted against the light of the room, and there was something in her expression — not jealousy, not anger. Something softer. Something almost like pride.
"Shower," she said. "Both of you. Before you catch cold."
They went, one after another, the hot water washing away the evidence. And when they came out, clean and tired, the rain had finally stopped.