Paralyzer

His red locks had to be perfect, arranged just so to frame and draw attention to his angular face. Flint smirked at his reflection, twisting his head around and watching the direction in which his hair fell. He had to admit, he looked extra good. The hair relaxer had tamed his normally wild afro into slick waves, and he loved the effect.

A burst of uproarious laughter made him jump -- he didn't think anyone was watching him preen. From the open bathroom door (why had he left it open?), Buck clamped one hand over his mouth, which unsuccessfully muffled the chortling, and pointed at his brother's head with the other one.

"What?" Flint demanded, exasperated.

"What the hell did you do?" Buck asked, lowering his hand to reveal a very amused grin.

Flint fluffed the back of his hair. "I made it sexy. For clubbing tonight."

Buck snorted. "Clubbing? In case you didn't notice, this is Hearthome. Not exactly party capital of the world."

"Stop acting like you know everything, Mr. Hotshot. For your information, there's an underground scene that springs up every once and awhile. It comes and goes, depending on who's running the show." He set the hair relaxer and his pick on a shelf by the lighted mirror.

"Underground scene? Like, in the Underground where you dig up junk with Roark?" Buck smirked.

"Right. Sure." Flint snickered as he pushed him away, though not forcefully. "Not that I should tell you this, but nightlife in Hearthome is just as awesome as it is in Sunyshore. Maybe more. This nice, wholesome town conceals a seedy underbelly of depravity."

Buck followed him to his room. "Yeah, right," he disagreed. His tone clearly stated that he wanted to learn more.

"Why else do you think Volkner's coming?" Flint sat on his bed and pulled on sneakers, black with red trim and laces. He tied double-knotted bows slowly. The rest of his outfit included baggy black pants, elaborately trimmed with red straps, silver rings, and zippers along the legs, a fitted black shirt, and his favorite black choker and wristbands.

"You look gay," Buck commented, grinning. "Want some glow sticks too?"

"Jealous." Flint walked past him, pulling out Buck's hair band without missing a step. The younger brother chased after him, cursing more fluently than any twelve-year-old should be able.

At the doorbell's chime, Flint greeted his guest. Volkner, who had agreed to spend his vacation with Flint's family (they had always welcomed him to their home for as long as he'd been Flint's friend), stood there in completely normal clothes: a V-neck black shirt, navy jeans, black creepers. Only his assortment of silver accessories -- a heavy wallet chain draped across his hip, two rings and a cuff in his ear -- kept him from a completely boring appearance.

Slouched, with thumbs hooked into his jeans pockets, Volkner looked Flint up and down. "Ready for the rave, huh?" he remarked with distaste.

Flint narrowed his brown eyes, ignoring Buck's raucous laughter behind him.

Volkner grinned, an expression that faded as he asked, "Wait, this place we're going, it's not an arcade with DDR and screaming kids, is it?"

"No, it's a club. I told you that already."

"You told me it was a bar."

"There's a bar in it!" Flint started to pull the door behind him. "We'll be back late, so tell Mom not to wait up or anything!" he called to his brother.

"By late, do you mean you'll meet her at church tomorrow?" Buck replied wryly.

"Yeah, yeah." He slammed the door.

"The hair is a nice improvement, though," Volkner said. "Though I never thought you'd get rid of the 'fro."

"Just for tonight. Wanted to try something different." Flint fingered a wavy lock, brushing it behind another as he stole a glance at Volkner's earrings. He only wore them for nighttime outings, and they provided a subtle accent, but he seemed different whenever they were on. More like himself, more like a man who could pull off the hardware look without appearing ridiculous. As someone who'd cultivated his own style, Flint appreciated that about him, and wished he would dress up more often.

They shuffled along in silence, Volkner lost in thought as always. "This club," he spoke up at last, "it had better not suck. Any of that Eurodance shit and I'm leaving."

"It won't. I heard that it's selective, and no one under drinking age aloud."

"Good. I'm on vacation here."

Hearthome didn't have much in the way of dark alleys, and it was in the most hidden of these that Flint and Volkner joined a line of hopeful party-seekers next to a nondescript brick building that Flint remembered from his youth as a bookstore. Two bouncers examined everyone at the door; just about every other person slunk away, sneering at the rejection.

"Hey." Volkner tilted his head back as he approached the burly men.

"'Sup, man." They grinned at him. "The Sunyshore gym leader is always welcome here."

Flint started to follow Volkner in, but the bouncers blocked his path. "Whoa, whoa," one of them rumbled. "Are we a little overdressed?"

"Arcade's about five blocks that way." The other jerked a thumb behind his shoulder.

"Don't you know who the fuck I am?" Flint yelled. "Ever hear of the Elite Four? The guys above gym leaders?"

"Move along, let's keep the line flowin'." The bouncer grabbed Flint's shoulder and pushed him aside, though with a struggle, as Flint planted his sneakered feet firmly on the pavement.

Volkner rolled his eyes from the doorway. "He's with me, guys. He really is one of the Elite Four."

Flint was released without question. He glowered at the two men as he stomped inside. "What the fuck is wrong with my pants?" he snapped. He could easily be heard over the booming electronica that filled the dim and smoky building. "I'm sick of all the comments!"

"What's wrong with you?" Volkner asked, watching Flint's chest heave.

A long-haired woman in a short, tight dress passed by. "I like your pants," she said, looking over Flint with an appreciative smile. "Lots of things to grab hold of." She winked and drifted away, disappearing into a crowd of swaying dancers.

"See, nothing wrong with 'em." Volkner clapped Flint's shoulder. "Go find her so she can grab hold of stuff."

"Uhn." Flint stared into the crowd. "Drink first."

"Also a good idea."

At the vast bar, they secured drinks, a vodka tonic for Volkner and a "flaming hooker" for Flint. "Why am I not surprised?" Volkner asked, grinning.

"I'm not a fire enthusiast for nothin'." Flint raised the tall shot glass, then blew out the fire and downed the contents. He pounded the bar and gasped.

Volkner laughed and swirled his glass, though the tinkling of ice cubes was lost in the thrumming music. "You're right, I should've thought about it before I ordered," he said. He motioned for the bartender. "Electric lemonade too."

Flint grinned. "That's more like it!" he agreed. Already he felt lighter, released from the sudden anger that had burst forth minutes before.

Volkner chugged his vodka tonic, ice cubes hitting his nose. He rubbed it and reached for his next glass, taking another gulp. "Oh damn," he rasped, clunking down the glass. "That is electric."

Uncertain if he wanted to sample that lemonade, Flint was content to watch Volkner work his way through it. The blond arched his neck back and sucked down every last drop, though a trickle of melted ice spilled out past his lips. He set the glass down and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, smiling at Flint lazily.

"I'ma hit the floor," he said, pushing himself back from the bar. "You comin'?"

"Nah, still trying to decide what else I want." Flint raised an eyebrow. It wasn't like Volkner to willingly join a crowd of intoxicated dancers.

"Mkay, later." He patted his back roughly, which Flint knew, after so many years, was his friend's only way of expressing concern, for lack of words.

"Know what you want yet?" the bartender asked.

"Sex on the beach?" Flint ventured automatically. "Oh, and a nice cold drink. It's hot in here."

The bartender laughed. "You got it." A minute later he set a glass in front of Flint, filled with ice, shots of vodka and schnapps, and the warm colors of blended cranberry and orange juice. It felt refreshingly cool and strong going down his throat.

It must have been the flaming double shot; that, or his little outburst, that had made him so hot. Flint slumped over the bar in thought, swirling his drink as Volkner had done. He hadn't been upset until they had entered the club -- on the contrary, he had spent all day in a good mood, proud of his sexy hair. Comments from neither Buck nor Volkner had bothered him. With Buck, the two teased each other constantly, never meaning any harm, only amusement. As far as Volkner was concerned... he was practically a second brother, having spent so much time in Hearthome as a child. No, Flint's family could never piss him off.

Sometimes he just got mad for no reason, especially lately. Although, upon reflection, he could think of a few good reasons. Like fickle female trainers who flounced through Foento gushing about cute Aaron, sophisticated Lucian, and glamorous Cynthia. Who was Flint next to his colleagues but the "weird afro guy with the lopunny"? Why did he get automatically brushed aside to Bertha's level of popularity? (Not to discount the ground-type mistress, for she had quite the scandalous youth. Truthfully, Flint found her fascinating, as she hid her past well from trainers and league members, but favored him with some stories for showing interest in her.)

There was also Volkner -- things always seemed to go just right for him. Everyone in Sinnoh seemed to know who he was, even those not affiliated with pokemon. The Sinnoh League saw increased participation just from kids who wanted to meet the cool electric specialist. Volkner got into the club by his reputation alone, which apparently surpassed Flint's. Or it was his nonchalant style... how did Volkner get everything he wanted without even trying? Flint had spent hours on his hair and dug out his wild pants for practically nothing.

He gripped the glass, which had started sweating, and stared at the crowd, trying to locate his friend. He couldn't really distinguish him in the darkness and the crowd swaying along to a slow-paced trance beat. What kind of club was this, anyway? Flint could usually appreciate any kind of music, but a dance club with a fully-equipped bar called for an energetic soundtrack, not this laid-back chill-down. Suddenly the whole place seemed very pretentious, with their understated dress code to the selective tracks. Flint had brought Volkner here to have fun, and he was the one who ended up annoyed -- their roles had truly reversed.

He had to stop feeling so angry. Flint was always one to keep his emotions in check, because he liked to be seen as an easygoing guy. And truthfully, aside from the minor nuisances of the evening, he had nothing to be angry about. So this wasn't what he expected; at least he was trying something different. Who said all clubs had to be flashing with colored strobe lights?

Still, if he wanted a dark-lit place with low-key sounds, he could have stayed in his room and turned up the stereo. But Volkner would not have wanted to spend the night there...

Flint shook his head, trying to dispel his train of thought. Just then, Volkner reappeared, plopping down on a stool beside him. "You still here?" he asked in a slurred voice. "Wha's going on?"

Flint shrugged. "This place isn't what I thought it would be," he answered truthfully. "You like it?"

Volkner shrugged, mirroring him. "Eh. Not as obnoxious as the places we were at in Sunyshore. And better drinks. I like drinks." He leaned over the bar. "Hey, can I get another 'lectric lemonade?" Suddenly he giggled. "'Lectric lemonade! Say that three times fast!"

The redhead laughed. He'd almost forgotten how easily Volkner loosened up with vodka in his system. At least his vacation had started off well.

"What d'you got, anyway?" he asked, eyeing the nearly-empty glass.

"Sex on the beach." Flint tipped the drink to his lips and downed what was left.

"Mmm. I like the sound of that. I live on the beach."

Ice cubes smacked Flint's face as he neglected to lower the glass. This was a very loosened Volkner. He faced his friend, who smiled longingly.

Flint had to laugh. "I'm glad you're having a good time."

"Not yet I'm not." Volkner guzzled his electric lemonade. "C'mon, that's what you need. Let's find that chick who wants in your pants."

"That's grab my pants."

"You know what she meant." Volkner slid off the stool, tottering in place. Flint took the lemonade from him, examined it, and drank what was left. "Hey..." Volkner complained.

"Can I have a taste? Thanks." Flint grinned, asking deliberately after the fact.

The only lighting came from the bar, which was dim anyway, and from a DJ's booth located near the ceiling, behind a glass-walled room. Flint stared up at it, baffled as to why the DJ would want to be closed in up there rather than with the party on the floor -- unless he was hosting his own private party. Meanwhile, the slow-paced electronica just encouraged everyone to mingle rather than let loose and actually dance. However, "mingling" pretty much meant speaking with body language alone. Everyone on the floor swayed around one another, grinding rhythmically with their partners. Flint looked around for Volkner and saw that he was engaged in a sensual "conversation" with a long-haired girl. He immediately went to him.

"Hey, Mr. Pants!" the girl greeted him loudly -- she was the one who had complimented him earlier. "Glad you could join us!"

"Here, man!" Volkner shouted. "I saved her for you!" He stepped out of the way, and the girl wriggled up to Flint, grasping a wide strap on his trousers. The blond gym leader was instantly joined by a young lady who had twirled around to find him in front of her.

"Volkner!" Flint called out, reaching out futilely. The gyrating girl lowered his arm for him, trying to encourage him to move with her. "No, wait," he protested. "My friend's wasted, I can't let him out of my sight."

"I think he can take care of himself." She stood on her tiptoes to speak in his ear. "But you're nice to look after him. I like nice guys." With her fingers hooked around his belt loops, she rubbed against him deliberately slow, kissing his neck, biting softly.

"W... wait." He knew she didn't hear him, so he grabbed her shoulders and pushed her back. "I really need to--"

"I know what you need." She wormed her way close to him again, slipping a hand between the narrow gap in their bodies and squeezing what she could over his heavy pants. He gasped and gripped her bare shoulders again, but didn't manage to push her away until she'd gotten in some more fondling. With a satisfied smile, she let him leave.

"Volkner?" he called, though he realized he wouldn't be heard. It just gave him some satisfaction that he was looking for his friend, not letting some strange girl feel him up. His heart still raced from what had happened -- it was so spontaneous, and had felt really good, yet at the same time, really wrong. His cock throbbed from the teasing, and his head spun from the mix of alcohol in his system. That taste of electric lemonade was stronger than his other two drinks had been combined; to think Volkner had drunk two of them, plus his first vodka tonic, in such a short amount of time.

Flint found him entangled with yet another girl, this one writhing to the beat with her back pressed against Volkner's body. His hands rested at her waist, almost as if he was guiding her movements. Perhaps he was -- her swaying behind pressed neatly against his midsection. He tilted his head back and parted his lips, gasping silently.

Though he was reluctant to interrupt, Flint pulled his sleeve. Volkner's head snapped back upright. "What?" he shouted over the noise.

"I don't..." Flint started to say. "I mean, I wanna..."

"What?" Volkner turned an ear to him, unable to hear.

"I think I want to leave," the redhead spoke into it.

Volkner's dance partner, clearly annoyed that he'd stopped grinding with her, left to find someone else. Volkner looked after her, more confused than disappointed. After a few seconds of processing her departure, he turned back to his friend. "Why?"

"It's just not right. I tried it but I want to go home now. Plus, you're really drunk."

Volkner shook his head. "Can't hear you. Come on." He grabbed Flint's wrist and pulled him along, leading him to a door in the back. It was unlocked, so they stepped in and shut out the noise. This small room seemed to be an office -- there was even a wide desk in the middle. Flint reminded himself that this building used to be a bookstore, and even with the renovations to the interior, former staff offices remained. Perhaps these were reserved as private rooms?

"Okay," said Volkner in a normal tone. "What's wrong now?"

At least he cared enough to seek out this quieter area so they could talk. Grateful that they didn't have to shout above the music now, Flint heaved a sigh. "I don't know. I don't really like this place, though I did give it a try after I was done sulking at the bar, you know?"

Volkner nodded, stuffing his hands into his jeans pockets and leaning against the closed door.

"But it doesn't seem like much fun, just a place where people come to hook up anonymously. I mean, I can see where that could be fun, but I'm not really into it." Flint ignored the strain from his groin. "What's the point?"

He was answered with a highly-raised blond eyebrow. "What's the point?You're how old?"

"I mean," Flint stressed, "what's the point of doing it with someone you don't know or care about?"

Volkner tilted his head. "That is the point. You don't have the... involving... ment." He chuckled at his own drunken words.

"But doesn't that defeat the purpose of intimacy?"

He shook his head again, looking dizzy for doing so. "Jus' don't think about it. If you think, that's where you get in trouble. You just have to do it."

Flint stared into his friend's intense but slightly unfocused blue eyes. He felt stunned, as if that gaze forced him to stand still and obey. As Volkner's reaction time was greatly impaired, several moments passed before he pushed himself away from the door on which he was leaning, raised a hand from his pocket, and turned the doorknob.

"Wait." Flint snapped out of his trance. In an instant, without thinking, he leaned forward and shut the door, hand remaining at the spot above Volkner's shoulder. He closed his eyes as his arm trembled; he could hardly believe what he'd done.

"Hnn?" the low sound from Volkner's throat was unbearably close.

"I know what it is," Flint said quietly. "Why I've been so testy all night. It's you."

"Wh... what'd I do?" Volkner asked, offended.

"You didn't do anything. You never have to... but you're more attractive to me than all the slutty girls in this place combined." Unable to look at Volkner's face, Flint continued staring at the door.

"Uh..." He sounded confused and probably disturbed, but he didn't protest, nor did he try to push Flint away and escape. "Huh?"

"I'm sorry I have to tell you this way," Flint said. "You may not remember it later. Or maybe that would be better." He moved his hand from the door to Volkner's shoulder, and leaned forward to his neck, nibbling.

Volkner gasped loudly. Flint chose to take this response as arousal, and suckled the spot. His friend made no movement, but he exhaled in short, rasping breaths, moaning as he was bitten again. Greatly encouraged, Flint moved his free hand to Volkner's waist, sliding his fingertips in under his shirt.

"What are you..." the blond started to ask, but he left the question incomplete.

"I'm sorry," Flint murmured into his neck, dropping his other hand to the corresponding side of Volkner's waist. "This is the only way I can show you."

"But we're... and you're not... and I know I'm not..." The arguments just wouldn't formulate.

"Don't think about it." With all the courage he could muster, Flint pressed his lips to Volkner's and slid his hands up his torso, underneath the shirt. Volkner had always been slender; not exactly scrawny, but never with an ounce of extra fat anywhere on his body, either. It pleased Flint to trace the outline of this athletic form with his hands, feeling proud of Volkner for taking care of his perfect body. It was harder for Flint, as much as he enjoyed junk food. He tried his best to train himself along with his pokemon, of course. But Volkner, he never had to worry about that, he never had to worry about anything.

Their kiss hadn't broken -- quite the opposite, it grew more ardent with each passing second. Flint lashed his tongue against Volkner's, stroking his chest as he pulled the shirt up. At this, Volkner finally moved, placing his hands on Flint's arms. Afraid that his friend meant to push him away, he rubbed his fingertips over small, hardened nipples, pleading with each touch. The move worked, as Volkner gripped him, moaning into his open mouth.

The throbbing sensation from earlier returned with a vengeance, but Flint forced himself to channel his own desires into pleasing the gym leader. He broke their kiss at last and moved to his neck, ravishing the spot as he pinched his nipples harder. Volkner rewarded him with a loud moan, sliding his arms around Flint's shoulders, clinging.

"You really like it, don't you?" He whispered in his ear, nuzzling against tousled blond hair.

"It's hard to... say no... ahh... when you're... you're..." Volkner seemed to have lost his train of thought thanks to the attention at his nipples and now his earlobe. Inspired, Flint pressed against him, holding him sandwiched between his body and the closed door. He was desperate for some contact to his crotch again, and he gasped into Volkner's ear as he ground slowly, not unlike the eager dancers outside.

Volkner's breath came ragged now, and his hand found its way into thick red waves of hair. He clutched the locks, which made Flint wonder if he preferred his hair this way -- loose hair had to be more sensual to touch than a tightly-curled afro. Volkner must have thought the same, for he leaned close and bit Flint's neck, a spontaneous, passionate gesture. His teeth clamped hard and fast, causing Flint to cry out in a mix of startling pain and intense lust. Encouraged even more, he lowered his hands slowly to the button of Volkner's jeans, fumbling to undo it.

The blond moaned longingly, licking and suckling another spot. Flint forced himself to keep quiet -- he wanted to ask if it was okay to go this far, if he should stop. But Volkner would have put an end to it by now if he didn't want it. Volkner always had his way. Unzipping his jeans and pulling them down by a few inches, Flint was free to grab the hardened length that stood out so far.

"Haa... oh, god," Volkner gasped, clutching Flint's hair. He rocked his hips slowly, keeping time with the pumping hand. Flint kept his grip firm but loose, while Volkner's arms around his shoulders only tightened. Gradually, he moved his hand faster, his heavy breathing synchronized with his friend's. He craved a return touch, but it pleased him all the same to hold Volkner and do him this favor.

He moaned louder now, almost at the same volume as the muffled electronica, clinging to Flint's shirt. As much as Flint wanted to kiss his neck or whisper in his ear, he resisted, not wanting to break their heated rhythm. He settled for nuzzling messy blond hair. Volkner thrust his hips more eagerly, and, with a heavy gasp, released his built-up fluids. He moaned thunderously, pressing against Flint's neck; when he soon panted for air, his tongue flicked out, licking the warm flesh appreciatively.

Flint kissed the top of his head, but he was unable to move the rest of his body. His hand covered by come which was rapidly losing its warmth, Volkner holding onto him with all his weight -- it was an awkward situation, yet he didn't want to disrupt it. Finally, Volkner leaned back against the door, opening his eyes slowly. He blinked at Flint, looking deliriously spent. Then he glanced down at the soiled hand moving away from his cock and chuckled.

"Yeah," Flint said helplessly, moving his hand away from them.

"Sorry about that." Volkner took his wrist and used the bottom of his shirt to clean off what he could.

"I'm not."

Their eyes met for a second before their lips did, tongues swirling around in a surge of passion. With his nerves rekindled and his body straining for release, Flint leaned close to the silver-adorned ear. "Please?" he whispered. "I want you so bad."

"Mmm..." Volkner purred and unfastened the elaborate pants, which, being much looser than his jeans, dropped to the floor. This sudden disrobing surprised Flint, as his whole body tensed.

"You... don't have to do everything I ask," he said, breathing warmly into Volkner's ear.

"Don't I always?" He lowered the boxers -- Flint's favorite pair, dark red with a flame pattern -- much more slowly. "Go on, ask me again."

His fingertips lightly brushed his thighs, inching close to the throbbing length but pulling away just before contact. Flint shuddered and moaned into Volkner's neck. "Please... I just want it... for a little while..." He was rewarded with a feather-light touch. "Ohh, god... Volkner..."

"I like hearing you beg," Volkner murmured, stroking slowly with a tightened grip.

The thrumming music, dark room, his own sweating forehead... Flint knew none of these things. All that mattered was Volkner touching him, and the exhilarating bliss coursing through his nerves. His head swam in ecstasy, senses lost in a fog. The next thing he became aware of was Volkner nipping his neck, much more softly than before. This sent shivers along Flint's bare arms. "You're so good," he rasped.

"Mhmm." Timed perfectly, Volkner pumped his hand faster, harder. Flint held onto him tightly, steadying himself, trying to rock his hips as Volkner had done. His body was unable to move as adeptly as the other's, so enthralled was he with stroking and biting.

He felt the pressure building, and his hips thrust seemingly on their own. Instinctively, Volkner's hand moved faster than ever, and Flint moaned more loudly in anticipation of what was seconds away. "I'm... going to..."

Volkner nipped a spot on his neck right under the earlobe. Digging his fingernails into his back, Flint came, rocking his hips as he erupted. He felt as though he would never stop, not with Volkner in control. With his hand still in place, no doubt more covered than Flint's had been, Volkner kissed his neck and ear, whispering into it, "I like hearing you come, too."

Flint cracked his eyes open, though he was aware of nothing more than Volkner's body in his arms and the warmth through which his brain swam. "Really?" he murmured.

Volkner leaned back and smiled, swaying unsteadily. He moved his hand away, much to Flint's disappointment. However, the lack of contact made him realize how cold he felt exposed, so he pulled his pants up. Volkner attempted to wipe his hand using his shirt, but there were few dry spots left, especially after Flint's turn. They both laughed with embarrassment.

The bouncers didn't say a word as the two walked by, just stared blankly into space. The night air felt refreshing, and Flint's head began to clear in a matter of minutes. Volkner tottered a little as he walked, and he kept yawning. "Come on, we can make it to my house," Flint said, draping an arm around his shoulders to help him along.

"Uh huh," Volkner mumbled tiredly.

"Why are we both spent, yet I'm the one wide awake?" the redhead mused.

"Mmmnn."

"Yeah, that's what I thought." He smirked.

Dim lighting greeted the two upon returning to Flint's house. He wondered if his mother had left them on for them, but then he found Buck in the living room playing a video game. The twelve-year-old snickered at the half-conscious Volkner barely hanging onto Flint for support. "Somebody's wasted."

"I'll waste you. Why are you still up? Volkner's supposed to sleep on the couch."

"But I'm nowhere near a save point! Besides, I don't think he'll have any trouble sleeping now."

"Change first," Volkner mumbled.

"What?" Buck asked.

Panicked, Flint steered his friend away before his brother noticed the stains on Volkner's shirt.

In Flint's room, Volkner peeled the shirt off over his head and slowly stepped out of his jeans, nearly toppling over. Flint's heart thumped in anticipation as the underwear-clad blond stepped towards the bed. But Volkner grabbed one of the pillows and dropped it to the floor, then stretched out there on his stomach.

"Don't sleep on the floor!" Flint protested. "There's the couch, you know."

He mumbled into the pillow, which Flint thought sounded like "Buck's out there." "Take my bed, then," he said. "I'm still awake, I'll sleep on the couch."

"Nuhhmun."

"The floor's not really comfortable, you know." Flint nudged him with a foot, now removed from shoes.

"Mmn." Volkner shifted a little.

"Don't you at least want to put on another shirt?"

"Mmn-nn."

Flint sighed and took a blanket from the foot of his bed, laying it slowly over Volkner's body. He changed out of his wild outfit into comfortable flannel pants and turned off the lamp. Lying in bed, he replayed the night's events over and over, listening to Volkner's deep breathing. Would he remember what they had shared? If he did, would he take Flint's confession as nothing more than result of pent-up frustration combined with alcohol?

Finally, he fell asleep, not waking once during the night. Surely it was close to noon when he opened his eyes again; a presence, a closeness, brought him out of slumber. It seemed that sometime in the night, Volkner had discovered the floor to be too uncomfortable and cold. With an arm draped over Flint's bare chest, he continued to sleep peacefully, a hint of a satisfied smile on his lips.

---

Author's Note: I write really long smut. It's always been that way. This fic is really late debuting, since I got the idea last May. I'm slooooow in writing, sorry.

Inspired by the Finger Eleven song. Kind of lame, I know, but the lyrics encouraged me to be an Ignitionshipper. To this day it's the only song I'm not tired of hearing on the radio.