He's finally had it. Today's the day.

Red's coming down from that damn mountain.

He's coming out of that cave and back to Pallet, even if Green has to shoot him with a Taser beforehand.

The wind is howling at the summit that day, the snow falling in such concentration that Green can't tell the sky from the ground. He squints his eyes and takes a deep huff of ice cold air before marching, determined, to where he caught sight of a dull campfire that burned only a fraction of the heat compared to how pissed he was.

Red—that guy. Just, that fucking guy. He was stubborn, cold, downright odd, and antisocial, among other things. Honestly, Green wondered how he handled himself before he's situated himself up on Mount Silver—out in the big, wide world filled with people. He'd apparently made friends with plenty of said people—though if Green recalled correctly, any time he mention their names, Red would look up from his dark wisps of hair with a look that said one word: who?

Hell, he doesn't even think the guy's ever had a date. He's never shown any signs of sexual urges, needs—no 'oh, she's pretty cute' or 'I'd tap that' or anything of the like. If Green didn't know better, he would've thought Red was asexual or some shit—could reproduce all by his lonesome.

Which is why he's very, very confused as he finds himself pinned to the ground, the condensation of Red's breath on his cheek feeling like it's ready to become droplets.

That is until something warm and almost slimy feeling dips itself across the skin of his face and he hears and feels the vibrations of a chuckle all about the cavern. "I wanna have your ass babies, Green," comes Red low voice as Green feels himself being humped for the sixth time in thirty seconds. Fuck—that was just disturbing. Was this how Red always talked dirty?

How had this even started? Oh, that's right. Red's sick—he'd been curled up in a ball, knees pulled up to his chest when Green finally came from the abyss of snow outside. Green blinks at the sight; once, twice, thrice.

He squats himself down beside the cap-wearing champion and very tentatively speaks his name. Red doesn't look, but Green watches as his fingers twitch—at least the guy's not frozen to death, is what he thinks. But then he slides his eyes to the side, and Green catches sight of a strange look he's casting this way as he speaks.

"Your face looks flushed," he says monotonously, giving Green a once over from beneath the brim of his cap. "I wonder…"

Green raises and eyebrow, but doesn't bother to ask exactly what it is Red's been wondering about. Regardless, the red-capped boy continues, a slight smirk on his mouth and eyebrows perched.

"What does the rest of you look like?"

At this, the brunette's eyebrows press back down from his forehead and knit together, furrowing. "Red, what are you talking about?"

"Kiss me."


But Red doesn't bother with anymore words as he leans in, eyes fluttering closed and lips parted.

"See, this is why you need to get down from—" Suddenly, very suddenly, Green feels five digits on his rear—and they're flexing, curling like they're trying to get in his rear. "Where the fuck are you grabbing?"

"I'm jus' tryin' to cop a feel, dude."

What. What. What.

"You're so irresistible, Green," he drawls out with a sloppy grin, one that Green doesn't recall seeing since his childhood years in Pallet. The brunette feels those memories whisk away, though, as Red slides his other hand beneath the hem of his shirt, humming in a satisfied manner. Green's breath feels as if it's been knocked out of his lungs, and he hears himself utter a ragged 'whoa' when Red topples the both of them over and onto the ground.

His head hits the floor with a thunk, and Green thinks he's gone blind for a second—but a second is all, because soon enough, black clouds clear the way and he sees Red's eyes, glinting with something that makes him feel an impending doom of sorts. That feeling only persists when Red firmly straddles his hips, that same grin plastered all over his face as he tugs off his gloves (he looks rather angry, despite the way the corners of his mouth is tugged up, Green notes in the back of his mind) and begins to press his pasty palms and fingers all over the brunette's chest.

Of course, after a couple short seconds he realizes Green's torso and still dressed and well—he simply can't have that.

He sighs happily as he begins to unzip Green's jacket, leaning forward and pressing his lips all over the brunette's neck and face. Green's mind is reeling as he splutters—"hold on, wait up, Red, I—" his hands fumble to try to keep himself decent, but Red works with surprisingly deft fingers and before he knows it, Green feels nothing between his bare back and the rough, rocky ground. He closes his eyes and attempts to regain himself(or at least some of himself), but then he feels something prodding at his lips, and Red's stupid roaming hands are just grope, touch, feel all over.

It turns out—none too surprisingly—that something at the edges of his lips is a tongue; Red's tongue, to be precise.

All he can really think now is that the whole Taser idea didn't roll out quite as planned.