*This story is rated 'M' for Mature due to language, alcohol use and 'sexy' character situations. If any of the above makes you uncomfortable: do not read. If you like the above trio of naughtiness, welcome to my 'big girl' story.

*This story is an 'Egoshipper', which means it features a romantic interest between Gary Oak and Misty Waterflower. If you do not want to read about this pairing, then don't. ;)

*This story will be a short one, told in three chapters.

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Pushing Midnight

By Maia's Pen

Chapter One

Where the hell is he?

Misty Waterflower scrutinized the clock on the nightstand: 11:33PM. He told her to wait for him here— in his hotel room— at 11PM. Now she was getting pissed off. Texting him was not an option. She didn't want to appear desperate. She didn't want him to even think that she was anxious to see him. Not when he clearly wasn't in any rush to see her. After all, this was just a convenient sex-hook-up, nothing more.

Gary Oak meant nothing to her.

Misty walked over to the mini-fridge and selected the most expensive-looking bottle of vodka. Gary could afford it, and he owed her far more for thirty-three—correction— thirty-four minutes of neglect.

The redhead took a mighty swig directly from the bottle. The vodka was vanilla, a flavor quite opposite to the actions she had planned for Gary tonight. The cold alcohol somehow ran hot down her throat, coating her esophagus and stomach like lava pouring into a valley. Misty squinted against the sheer power of the alcohol, sinuses tingling as her blood seemed to boil from cheeks to toes. Well, something had to make her blood hot if someone wasn't around do it.

Misty pressed the bottle to her lips again, smirking against it and wishing it were not a bottle at all . . . but rather her favorite anatomical part of Gary. A part that could also warm her mouth, her throat . . . Misty swallowed a large gulp, then another, and another— hell— who counts when the shots are free.

Was she looking forward to seeing Gary? No. Hell no. The man was like a knot tied suffocatingly-tight around her mind, around her hea— shut up, Waterflower. Gary was like that irritating knot that you tied in your shoe months ago, and every time you try to untie it you get frustrated and tug really hard — just hoping it will separate— but somehow you only fasten it tighter. So no, Misty was not looking forward to seeing Gary, only her body was. He caused her inescapable ecstasy and imminent resentment.

Misty was using Gary. Using him like the microwave to heat water for the tea she needed to relax. Only Gary was used to heat her very bloodstream so that her hormones could relax.

That beautiful man . . . his body was the portal to an unseen world. A sinful world where addictive euphoria overwhelmed her. To lay with him was like playing with fire, well-knowing that the flames would burn her alive— leave her marred, scarred and hurting for hours, days, weeks afterward. It was an agony she craved — a pain she thrived on, that she needed. And she damn-well despised herself for being so weak. For allowing him to have such power over her when he couldn't even bother to turn up on time.

Misty strolled, quite tipsily, toward the full-length hotel mirror. She made a mean face at her reflection, pitying herself for even still being here, in his damn room. At least she'd had an excuse to buy a fabulous dress, not something a gym leader had many reasons to shop for. Fashion-wise Misty had gone 'all out' for Gary's award ceremony, the afterparty of which was still raging downstairs. This party was likely to blame for his tardiness. No, correction: the only one to blame for Gary's tardiness was Gary.

The award ceremony had been held in the main ballroom of this grand hotel: Chateau Vulpix. The chateau was an ancient castle transformed into a modern hotel, and it boasted hundreds of rooms and several ballrooms. The largest ballroom was where the action was now. Where the top Pokemon researchers of the year were being honored. It was a full-blown, black-tie formal affair. Everyone-who-was-anyone was in attendance, even the Elite Four and the Pokemon Master himself, her buddy Ash Ketchum.

Misty considered her refection again and the effort she'd spent to 'glamour-up' for the occasion. Her new dress was an elegant shade of seafoam-green. It had short ruffly sleeves and the fabric was sparkly, flowing like a waterfall to her ankles. Misty swam for hours everyday and this dress perfectly showcased her fit figure, without flaunting unnecessary skin. Only a modest side-slit hinted at her bare legs beneath. Misty's ginger locks fell in long piles past her shoulders, and her favorite Horsea barrette pinned the hair off her left ear. Glittering silver gemstones fell around her neckline and, for additional dazzle, a Pokeball charm bracelet wrapped her wrist. Even her shoes were pretty darn glamorous, the strappy heels perfectly matched her dress and made her look tall. Okay, tall-ish. Barefoot her head reached Gary's chest, but she had a shot at sucking on his neck in these heels. Despite looking radiant, Misty's reflection held blatant disapproval . . . her beauty efforts were wasted.

Vodka bottle in hand, Misty slumped down on Gary's bed. It was Slowking-sized, incredibly plush and with an opulent golden comforter. Gary's entire room was posh, the very walls were carved from black apricorn wood and decorated with paintings of Pokemon and gardens. Several potted plants were scattered about and they released a heavenly floral aroma. Heck, even the television set was the size of a Blastoise shell! All of the decor was fancier than her standard room a few floors below.

Gary always had preferred the finer things in life, even as a ten-year-old. He was the only new Pokemon trainer she'd ever seen being chauffeured around by cheerleaders in a convertible car, staying at nice hotels and going on vacations in-between gym battles! Other trainers walked and shivered in sleeping bags in the dirt. Herself included. So it was no surprised that adult Gary had spared no expense when renting this room. This was a room with a jacuzzi, massive bed, balcony overlooking the Indigo Plateau, and a fridge stocked with pricey alcohol. This was a room he planned to celebrate in.

Had Gary simply assumed that he would be the big winner of the evening? A landslide, sweeping victor against all other researchers? That he would be named 'Pokemon Researcher of the Year'— at twenty-six years old, the youngest in history?

Of course he did. What Gary did best was know he was the best.

Misty endured the burn of another vodka sip. Sighing she flopped backward into Gary's bed like a K.O.'d Pokemon. She squeezed her eyes shut as though the mere act would squeeze Gary from her memory. It didn't work. Misty recalled every detail of his earlier big win and wished she could forget . . .

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100 minutes earlier . . .

The ballroom was massive, lavish and loud — it seated hundreds and all of the seats were full. Dozens upon dozens of round tables were layered before a grand stage, and these tables were jam-packed with guests dressed to the nines.

Misty was glad that she'd chosen to sit in the rear section of tables, with the 'general' guests. Okay, so she didn't have a great view of the stage, but there was an enormous screen on the wall that projected a close-up of the action. Misty stifled a yawn, the award ceremony had already been going on for over an hour. While many awards had been presented for various scientific achievements, the main event was yet to occur: the naming of the 'Pokemon Researcher of the Year'.

Misty did not know the other six people at her table, they were all seemingly-nice couples. She was the odd one out as she'd attended the event stag, a solo act. Misty knew she looked out-of-place, but didn't care. The empty chair beside her was the perfect place to store her purse.

Ash, his date, The Elite Four, and most of the other Gym Leaders were seated in the VIP section up front. Gary and the other award nominees were also included in that section. Misty's sister, Lilly, had attended as Lance the Dragon Master's date. Ash, Lance and Lilly had harassed her to sit with them. But Misty lied, saying that she was 'too tired to party'. She fibbed that she aimed to leave early and didn't want to appear rude. She explained that: it would be easier for her to slip out, before the afterparty began, if she was seated toward the back. The trio couldn't argue with her seating-logic.

The truth: Misty and Gary could not be seen leaving the party at the same time without drawing suspicion. Everyone would be watching him, so she needed to execute stealth.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, it's my honor to announce our final winner of the night! This is the big one folks! The 'Pokemon Researcher of the Year' is . . ." there was an audible drumroll, "Professor Gary Oak!" The entire ballroom erupted into deafening applause and screaming. Misty would have covered her ears, but that would look rude and she was a professional.

The host of the award ceremony, an overweight middle-aged fellow in a tuxedo, continued: "Congratulations, Professor Oak, on your historical achievement! Folks, he is the youngest researcher in history to receive this recognition! C'mon up here and accept your award, Professor!" The host was barely discernible over the thunderous applause.

The ballroom of hundreds rose to their feet, presenting a standing-ovation for Gary. The seas of guests literally parted to allow him to find the stage. Begrudgingly Misty stood, she couldn't be the only one on her ass without looking like one.

Now upright Misty saw Gary ascend the stage steps, a spotlight following him the entire way. He waved at the audience as he approached the host— the man was positively swooning over Gary like a fangirl. The host shook Gary's hand with such enthusiasm Misty thought he might sever the limb. That would be a shame, as Misty had many dirty, sultry plans for that hand.

A woman in the front row tossed her bra onto the stage and Misty tossed back the remainder of her chardonnay. The host presented Gary with a large golden trophy, complete with a shiny Pokeball on top. The professor had won quite a few awards in his twenty-six years, but this would no doubt be on the top shelf of his collection. To be named 'Researcher of the Year' meant that you were at the pinnacle of success. Many professors strove for even a nomination, never earning even that honor throughout their esteemed careers. What Gary achieved tonight was truly monumental. Everyone in the ballroom knew that they were witnessing a scientific legend. Misty wanted to join in their awe, she even wanted to be proud of him . . . but both of those emotions were reserved for someone you actually gave a shit about.

The only feeling she would grant Gary tonight would be the sexual kind: unemotional, hard and with zero talking (unless it was dirty). That was their deal.

The stage photographer began snapping shots of Gary posing with the host and his award. While the host grinned like Mr. Mime, Gary Oak's smile thieved the very air from her lungs. By all of the legendary Pokemon . . . did he ever look good. No, the word 'good' was a pitiful understatement. Cupcakes looked good, sunsets looked good . . . in that moment Gary was the most desirable man she had ever beheld.

Every cell in her body ignited as though hit with a Flamethrower attack. That is, if a Flamethrower could douse you in Oak pheromones. Misty's brain recognized his image and responded to him. She may have hated him, but her body remembered the rapture he could create. She was powerless against her physiological response. Helpless against her thundering pulse and the muscles tightening within her abdomen, between her thighs. Like a Magikarp going up against Zapdos, her body didn't stand a chance.

A designer tuxedo sheathed Gary's athletic physique. It was black like his heart. However the vest and bowtie were Articuno-blue and they matched the shade of his eyes. Gary's hair was his trademark — and even at such a prestigious event— it remained untamed. Auburn spikes made him appear even taller than he was (and he had a foot on Misty to begin with). He would never bother to harness those spikes— they did whatever the hell they wanted, just like him. Gary was debonair in sweatpants, but he cleaned-up so damn well tonight. The young professor looked like a professional actor as he stood upon that stage. In front of screaming fans, cameras, and media . . . Gary was a natural super star. His good-looks and charisma were destined for the spotlight. And that very spotlight (as well as the camera lenses and the eyes of the audience) couldn't relish in his image enough. Everyone wanted more Gary Oak. Unfortunately for them, his handsome face was only destined for her mouth tonight.

Breaking away from the photographer, Gary turned an bowed graciously at the crowd. "Wow! Thank you so much!" He grinned into the microphone and purposely flaunted his dimples. He raised his trophy like it was a legendary Poke'egg. The jerk actually looked surprised that he'd won. As if. As if any other science-nerd stood a chance going up against Gary-mother-fuckin'-Oak.

Gary continued his speech over the relentless cheers from his admirers. "Thank you to the Pokemon Science Academy for this amazing honor. Thank you to my grandfather, Professor Samuel Oak— a past recipient of this award — for all of his guidance." Gary pointed at his grandfather who was sitting in the front row, the videographer zoomed in on the senior professor's face and displayed his beaming image on the main screen. "Gramps was instrumental in aiding my Mega Gyarados research. Gramps made sure that my research was organized and fit to present before the esteemed academy panel. Thank you to all of the Gyarados who tolerated my relentless stalking of them day and night for years—" the crowd laughed absurdly loudly and some random woman yelled 'how can I sign up for that service!?', which only got the crowd laughing harder. "In addition, I have to thank my wife, Jocelyn, who has been tolerant of my long hours away studying these Gyarados in the field. Jocelyn couldn't be here tonight in person." Even though Misty knew Jocelyn's 'thank you' was coming, she still had to fight against the urge to flinch. "And, lastly, I have to thank someone incredibly special to me." Gary now looked up . . . as though searching for someone, and proceeded: "This is someone I owe a great deal of appreciation to. I'm honored this person is here to celebrate with me tonight. You know who you are, thank you."

Misty stiffened. What the hell was that about? He barely mentions his wife — she's not even here for some reason, at his big event — and he says THAT. Was he referring to . . . me? She glanced around, but no one at her table seemed to suspect that Gary had intended his final 'thank you' for her. Then again, why would they? She was paranoid. And maybe he hadn't intended it for her? Why would he include her anyway? She meant nothing to him. She was a fool to even entertain the notion of his appreciation.

Misty was slapped from her thoughts as the host slapped Gary on the back. He patted his shoulder as though Gary were the coolest person he'd ever stood next to. "Isn't he somthin', folks! What a treasure to our scientific community!"

As Gary descended the stage steps his head turned in Misty's direction. He was searching for her. Misty almost ducked under the table, but she didn't want to look totally insane to her table-mates. Like sapphire searchlights did Gary's eyes pinpoint her now. His sight transformed from searchlight to laser, and immediately focused upon her. Dark lashes gave way to sinful pools, pools where she would willingly surrender her final breath.

Gary nodded once. It was not just a friendly, familiar acknowledgment. It was a gesture of verification— confirming their evening plans in his hotel room tonight.

Misty did not want to nod back. She wanted to shoot him her middle finger and scream at him— tell him to shove that trophy up his ass along with his wedding ring. But, even if there weren't hundreds of people around, her body would never have allowed her to do that. Misty's own head betrayed her as she returned the nod. Like a weak Pokemon captured by a Master Ball, she was compelled.

The anticipation of seeing Gary later . . . of being with him . . . his hands-mouth-body-against-her-inside-her-it griped her with a carnal yearning that was unbearable. Misty needed to leave the ballroom. Now. And she did not want to attract attention as she departed. Acting as casual as one could (while slightly drunk and in tall heels), Misty made her way out and toward the elevator. In a few minutes that ballroom would evolve into a wild party of dancers drinking-up a science-celebration storm!

It was 10PM now, and she and Gary had made arrangements for 11PM. This was the perfect time to sneak away. It gave the 'man of the hour' plenty of time to make his party social rounds, and then briefly excuse himself to come upstairs and ravage her. What he did after that didn't matter to her in the slightest.

But still . . . as she rode the elevator to the top floor, Misty couldn't help but curse fate. Fate just had to pair her and Gary here—together—tonight at this award ceremony.

As a gym leader Misty was expected to attend, as was customary every year. Gym leaders needed to support Pokemon scientific achievements. And, most years, Misty did enjoy attending the event. It wasn't until after Misty accepted her invitation that she had found out Gary was nominated. Truthfully, she wasn't surprised by his nomination, his analysis on Mega Gyarados evolution was groundbreaking. He had been fanatically studying Gyarados for the past two years, and his hard work had paid off in spades.

Yesterday the text came: "Room 900. Key will be under the rug by my door. 11PM."

Misty wanted to delete the message. Her thumb hovered over the 'trash button' for several minutes. But her fingers would never comply. Her fingers ached to be on his face, in his hair, in his mouth, upon and around every part of his body.

Instead Misty replied with a simple, unenthusiastic 'thumbs up' emoji. Her message was marked as 'read', but he never acknowledged it. Gary would not expect her to reply with smiles or heart eyes, and he didn't want them either.

Unemotional, hard and with zero talking (unless it was dirty). That was their deal.

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NOTE: Please review! Reviews make my Muse push plot outta me and make my fingers type faster. The next (and final) chapter is in the works and shitz gunna get real. The angst! Be sure to visit my website for story art: egoshipper dot com. Looking forward to reading your thoughts. I respond to every signed review. Maia's Pen