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✘ WARNING: ADULT MATERIAL.

As the night finally began its relentless, recurring consumption of the world around them, evening settling on the landscape and bringing silence and the creeping touch of a winter's night chill lapping at crevices, walls and windows. Even from within, Tatenda's home had the character of a glowing beacon - something beckonning, welcoming, alluring. Barafai had curled up in one corner of Tatenda's couch in the living room, deliberately oblivious to the world around it, comfortable in the circumstance. Meanwhile, Salt's pokéball rested on the kitchen table next to the sink like discarded pottery - albeit not out of disrespect, simply out of lack of flattering place to yet store it, and no self-consciousness to drive seeking one just yet, while other distractions were to be had. Salt, after all, couldn't currently see where his pokéball was sitting; and even if he had a metaphysical bond with his digital prison that let him sense his surrounding in abstract, he'd hardly be bothered. He was in there by choice and nothing could happen to him.

Tatenda's focus is with Jagdish. An amicable discussion over supper's been had so far, on various trivialities - a supper that was Tatenda's charity to the gym leader but managed to feel more like a sacrificial offering made to appease a dragon in a human form. Not an evil dragon, though, rather one that inspires hopes and dreams and whispers promises of protection… but a dragon nonetheless.

“If you look back on yourself… on your life so far,” Jagdish comments, softly, the statement a non-sequitur, cutting through the current, non-committal conversation on the world's advancing technologies like a hot knife through butter. “On what we did to you,” he continues. “If you could go back in time armed with a single-strike omnipotence to change a pivotal moment, what would you change? In honesty and confidence.”

Tatenda blinks for a brief moment, looks up from his glass to Jagdish. His hand moves a little to place the glass back on the table again, since he just took a sip and this gives him a little bit more time to think about an answer.

“That's… a difficult-to-answer question,” he then starts in a low, still pondering voice. “There had been times, when I wanted to undo the fact to have become a gym leader, in other times I wanted to still be this gym leader… - sometimes I thought about a life, in which I never had met any of you, but… that's very seldom.” He smiles lightly. “I would miss a lot of experience and memories, which I'd never had made, if all of this hadn't happened. I think, it's… - hm… - it's okay the way it is.”

He snorts lowly as part of a else unheard laughter. “Okay, at the moment I'm thinking about never having invented this energy-crystal technique.” Again he focuses directly at Jagdish's eyes. “Why are you asking? …is there something you'd want to change?”

A slow, comfortable motion touches Jagdish's head, the most gracefully minimalist shake of his head that he can muster. “I just wonder sometimes,” he comments. “There is a very precise image lodged in my head as to how the Council and my actions affect people. And they do flatter me by behaving as expected and confirming it in conversation, but unsurprisingly, that is largely behaviour either where I am or where I am known to look, be it directly or indirectly, and the conversations are always with… me.” Amusement seems to be touching a deliberately monotone tone, plucking it gently from its attempted mediocrity. “That presents a certain dilemma.” A pause, his gaze reaching up to Tatenda's face, that dark humour presenting itself in its inversion as a luminous crescent on his irides. “As does this one, no doubt; it's not very different, of course. But I prey and wait and prowl, looking for indicators that perhaps our retributive approach has overstayed its welcome.” Another pause, mustering Tatenda curiously. “In other words,” he summarises like one bemused by his own bland rhetoric and was about to eagerly deconstruct it, leaning forward against the table slightly, elbow coming to rest atop it, fingers grasping his own jaw lightly, index and middle finger under it, tip of his thumb against the side of it, rather than the other way around. “Do you think your sentence was fair? I won't hold 'no' against you - you've sat through it, you've moved on to serve us well beyond all expectations, you're a model citizen… you're allowed to speak your mind freely, and I am so very curious.”

The golden veins in deep dark brown are glowing from different light reflections, when the black-skinned man's gaze wanders back and forth between Jagdish's eyes as if he tries to read them out, get any further information about the intention of this so very different topic. As always, Tatenda's eyes show respect, but no real fear. He trusts Jagdish - a fact that others might consider reckless.

“My sentence?” he asks, then begins to smile a little, his glance running down again to his own hands, one of them playing with his glass, slowly turning it around its vertical axis. “Fair is so relative. I think it was at least necessary, like it is everytime.” He takes a deep breath. “Hm… unfair… - well, in parts, yes. Because it was the very last thing I'd expected for getting that far and in the end being punished for something that - from the point of view a circuiter has - every single gym leader does. You see? It's like running up a hill just to find a sign on top that says running is forbidden, instead you have to walk slowly and carefully. Afterwards you realise it's because of the grass you walk on that's otherwise damaged, but this realization may take some time.”

The response seems to infect Jagdish with a shallow tinge of amusement, a part of him far too used to derisively dealing with opposition - though even in those cases, expressions of venom rarely manifest as anything more than a flicker across his face… and as such, the fact it extinguishes quickly doesn't say much at all. Fortunately, the warmth that replaces it is unmistakably positive. A smile's firmly creased his lips. “Thank you,” he says. “If you were my prisoner, I wouldn't let that analogy stand, mind you, but I suspect that goes without saying. I asked for your opinion and I appreciate your honest response.” Said, he lets his gaze drift, perhaps quietly grappling with the parts of Tatenda's hill that still resonated with reality without discussing it directly. Then the moment passes like sunlight at dusk and he pushes himself slowly up to a stand, gaze sneaking across to Barafai's dozing shape, contemplating the pokémon's existence - and the things it had said about Tatenda in the past, both good and bad… but mostly good.

A light, warm sound of laughter escaped Tatenda's chest, where it releases some fine tension that came up with Jagdish's question and intense look. “I'm… relieved that you don't blame me for it,” he admits with a one-sided smile, then gets up, too, to start clearing the table except their drinks.

Jagdish's gaze lingers on Barafai a little longer, as if he were tempted to walk across and disturb the creature in its doze by running fingers across it affectionately - then decides against it, exhaling soundlessly and stepping through the living room at a slow but steady pace, until he reaches the window pane, tip of his nose only a few inches removed from the smooth surface, gaze cast out at the landscape, a collage of silhouettes and cool gradients as it is. The Valcee expanse cuts off the bottom left corner of the sky at a shallow, barely perceptible angle, and the cityscape ahead and below swims with a busy but quiet light. He tries to judge Tatenda's progress in clearing the table by sound alone - and as the relative silence convinces him that his host is done, he says: “Come here.” His left arm sweeps in a gentle beckon, the words themselves welcoming rather than demanding, marking the instruction entirely optional.

Just returned to the table Tatenda again took a sip of sweet-sour liquid from his glass… - when Jagdish speaks he finds himself staring at the Arbiter, though he is not just seeing this post, but more like the man standing in his living room. His presence feels good, though there is still this hint of excitement and tension, like a scent of danger… maybe.

He blinks and needs a second to understand the words that are spoken to him, then after a moment of hesitance follows the invitation, taking Jagdish's drink with him to place both glasses on the window sill.

Jagdish's gaze falls down to the glass briefly, as if mustering a wholly foreign item in passing, then climbs back up to look at the fading landscape. “I think you and Damayanti were the most influential gym leaders Nightclaw ever had,” he reveals, meaning it as conversational flattery, sincere but without gravity. “They may not remember your face,” he comments, gesturing at the city's jagged outline in the briefest, lightest gesture of his right hand. “But they'll remember your values, whether they realise they're yours or not.”

First Tatenda's eyes rest on Jagdish's, but when his guest looks out of the window, he does the same, listening to those complimenting words that make his cheeks turn reddish - or rather deeper black. His glance focused from that skyline outside to the apparitional reflection on the window glass. “You… - you really think I left that important footprints? That sounds very nice and honorable, but it's hard to believe. I just filled my position.”

“Change is difficult to discover if one's own personality evolves and advances at a more rapid pace, as the line between one's shifting subjective perception and objective differences blurs into arbitrariness,” Jagdish elaborates, glancing out the landscape as if at a slice of frozen time. “Meanwhile, I've had much time to carve away at those parts of me yet undecided and I make a marvellously static sculpture these fine days,” he chuckles softly. “And it sharpens my eye for the fluctuations in the world around me. You've peeled away a whole layer of callused skin from Nightclaw's culture, allowing Damayanti to nurse that raw surface back to health. They remember her… but she might have found a dishearteningly premature end given her personality if you hadn't preceded her.”

A brief moment of silence fills the apartment, while Tatenda thinks about those words - and tries to overcome his nervous flattered state. Finally he clears his throat and smiles uncertainly and still contemplative. “I haven't realised it and… didn't think I was that… mmmh… important to the development of Nightclaw and Damayanti's work.” Now his look jumps directly to Jagdish's real face, not just the reflection of it.

A borderline mischievous tinge has infected Jagdish's smile, his gaze still anchored on the world outside for a long moment of silence - then he turns his head gently and lets his gaze travel to Tatenda's face, regarding him with a flicker of admiration. That seems to be all he's capable of - a flicker of appreciation distorting that outward appearance pleasantly, no more, just the minimum expression of a genuine emotion. Then the delicate fingers of his left hand reach up to that dark face, two of them brushing the soft curve of their backs against Tatenda's jaw, leaving a wordless 'thank you' in their wake.

There is a fine almost secret shiver running down Tatenda's spine, that makes him swallow noiselessly, just his larynx tells it from wandering up and down his gorge. His glare flees Jagdish's look for a second, but jumps back up to face it again.

He wanted to say something, but his mind does not come up with something intelligent to tell at all, just stupid bunches of words with no real meaning but babbling away the nervousness that just grows bigger.

Tatenda exuded a certain fragility not quite befitting his rich life experience and credentials - a former gym leader, influential, guiding force for the largest city on Sehto, and here he stood, uncertain what to say in light of all of that being revealed like an unravelled secret. It was a striking emotion encoded in those eyes, anchoring the Arbiter's attention, and with a curiosity of his own, he folded his hand against the line of Tatenda's jaw, index finger following the curve, thumb touching his lower lip, resting there lightly.

As if Jagdish found a hidden pad sensitive for the slightest touch, Tatenda instantly feels hit by a lightning strike - not the lethal sort, but electrified down to the last toe tip. His heart beats like he just did a sprint, he feels its excited pulse right there in his lip, where this delicate thump touches him - still.

A flood of thoughts starts a stampede against his mind, which is frozen in time, not capable of thinking straight any more. There… had been… something, that… uhm… nevermind. Just staring at Jagdish, his lips parting rather in reflex than to say something.

That gaze drifts from Tatenda's face down to the fingers rested against him as if they were as alien at the moment between them; then those digits relent, leaving Tatenda to himself for a moment. Instead, the palm of Jagdish's hand finds Tatenda's right shoulder in the briefest gesture, only to slide lightly behind him, the rest of the Arbiter following like a shadow, until he's layered against Tatenda like an unusual second skin, arms behind arms, chest to back, left cheek resting against the intricately woven hair. Fingers weave in between fingers, and like a living puppet, Tatenda finds his hands raised until their palms touch against the smooth surface of the glass. Jagdish's right hand guides Tatenda's down the cool surface in two short arcs, like a symbolic caress of the world outside, fingertips catching against the glass, the natural adhesive quality of his fingertips in the way of a perfect gesture, but not bothersome. Between them, silence.

It is a strange feeling of being taken to one's own past, being young again, insecure, excited, nervous. Like the first time, when Jagdish spoke to him, offered him a position he never had dared to dream about. Here and now of course it was a position he never had dared to dream about, too - literally. His chest fills itself with air, almost as fast as a gasp. He feels his own body slightly shivering and is not sure, if he does not dare to flee or rather does not want to. He has to admit to himself that it feels exhilarating, timeless, ageless. His eyes sparkle from excitement and fascination, all senses soaking up every single impression, feeling, emotion.

The warmth between their fingers licks up at the glass as a thin film of translucency, soft-edged and passing by. For a moment, Jagdish simply holds Tatenda there, as if the touch of the glass allowed him to feel the world outside, to truly understand it rather than just take in the fading reverse gradient of the dusken sky and Thorn's eclipsing shadow. Then his left hand unclasps from Tatenda's, briefly travelling to curve against his wrist, touching fingertips against the inside of it, pressing lightly against it as if to assert an ability to manipulate that limb as he pleased, before dragging his fingers up that arm and away from it. A moment later, it's settled against Tatenda's belly, for the moment biding its time. A vocal notion disturbs the quiet, soft whisper against the dark hair: “What do you see?”

Eyes wide open, but concentrated in what he feels Tatenda has to focus on the outside world again, when the low words lure him back to a minimum state of time and place, though the young man from his past instantly feared some sort of test and feels the urge to give the right answer. But was there something like that? He inhaled hesitatingly. “I see… present Nightclaw, a constantly changing city, full of life, dreams and hopes, but also full of problems, fears and… well, I see a beautiful skyline surrounded by beautiful nature…” His eyes unintentionally focus on the reflection. “…and I see you… and… - and me… and some fingerprints on the glass…” Kind of embarrassed by his own babbling in the end he bites his lower lip and smiles lopsidedly. “I'm not sure, if that was, what you expected to hear. Sorry, it's just… this situation…”

THEN, SOME ESPECIALLY ADULT STUFF HAPPENS. click to read.

A wire of mischief winds its way around Jagdish, extending into his arm, pressing itself a little more firmly against Tatenda's form, light grin just barely visible as a reflection against the glass. A moment later, Jagdish teases: “What about the situation?”, just as fingers curve down delicately and brush across Tatenda's heat, guided by that desire to dishevel what of the conversation remained.

Firm muscles beneath the thin fabric of the shirt stand against this pressure, now shivering in nervous tension the deeper Jagdish's fingers are reaching. The gasp is obvious now and Tatenda's eyes are widening. “What… - what are you doing?!” he whispers rather breathlessly. His whole body pressing against the other now in his back - not the best was to escape this situation. “This situation is… unusual… - why…? I mean…” A low moan ends the senseless sequence of words.

The free hand slipped down across the glass with a squealing noise, then grabs Jagdish's wandering hand, though unable - or unwilling? - to really stop it from moving.

The reaction prompts a soft little surprised chuckle in the Arbiter and a pause of those probing fingers. “My, my,” he observes the abrupt reaction meaninglessly and in humour. “Before I continue,” he says, voice only a sliver removed from toneless whisper, the hints of emotion woven into it still distinctly coloured by mischief. “You should really tell me whether that's genuine distress I'm about to ignore.” It's half a lie, of course - if it were genuine, he'd stop and apologise in a hurry, after all, but there was no thrill to be had in that particular honesty.

Tatenda's breath is fast and flat, he swallows and licks over his lips. “I'm just… - I…” Well, what exactly is the problem? Is there a problem at all? If his cheeks weren't deep black he surely would be red like a tomato. But is that a problem? Most of his life he was much too addicted to his work and tasks that he didn't even think about anything sexual or even relationship related. Of course, in his youth he had some 'adventures', but they all had been with girls. Not that many, to be honest. He definitely never had felt this intense arousal that instantly came up within him, when Jagdish was that close, touched him and… oh, his voice!

So the only 'problem' is his own realization of facts. Again he shivers, tries to take a deep breath. “I… - I… don't… - don't know, what to… do,” he then manages to stammer. “I'm not used to… - to… this.”

Jagdish's right hand pulls Tatenda's away from the glass, for a moment letting his arm hover outstretched to his side, amusement in his demeanour, but without that a word is spoken. Instead, a long moment later, that hand is pulled back further, gently bent into guiding his arm into twisting and folding. Nonetheless, it seems to be quite a sudden event that his wrist finds itself pressed to his spine, the moment of contact the one that Jagdish's other hand resumes its gentle caress. “You have no idea how lucky you are,” he whispers in passing amusement.

It is definitely some sort of evidence for Tatenda's trust in Jagdish that he just stands and watches this other hand and arm guiding his own around, though his eyes show unease and a tiny hint of fear - but still that sort of fear that works for excitement and later on arousal for sure. Then, when he realises that this very special man trapped his arm, another gasp escaped his lips and he bites his lip to stop the soft moaning from being heard. He was lucky? Why? His body betrays him already, blood throbbing in rather seldom used parts that now suddenly get all the attention.

Slight shivers run up and down his spine and his head falls backwards after rising slowly from the fallen forward position, leaving the slender neck almost presented, when leant against Jagdish's shoulder.

Warm lips and the moist tip of a tongue touch against the curve of the ebon neck tentatively, a slow, steady breath ghosting across the flesh. The fingers at Tatenda's crotch knead against the firm lump of flesh through his clothes as if to shape it, until they disconnect for a moment, drifting upward instead, working against the button slowly but deliberately.

As always Tatenda tries to be as quiet as possible, not making too many and - more importantly - too loud sounds. So the fine twitches of his body reveals more of his state of arousal than the held back moans and gasps.

Finally his hand slowly let go off Jagdish's hand, fingers - a little shy and nervous - caressing his arm upwards.

Tatenda's fingertips have an unexpected effect - gooseflesh creeps along that pale skin, claiming a sizable area of it, effortlessly betraying that Jagdish is far from being unaffected by their intimate embrace. The button finally eases open, fingers nudging at the zip and the fabric of the trousers, gradually making the naked person beneath a little more accessible. Then the hand slips fingers in under the edge of Tatenda's underwear, only to move in a single subjectively swift motion to grasp at the hardening length, giving it a gentle, encouraging squeeze.

On top of this sensation a sharp gasping moan escapes the tensed chest, Tatenda's hip twitching backwards against Jagdish's crotch, rather unintentionally brushing accross it. Then his trapped arm starts to wriggle a little, wants to break free, the whole body shivering from unfamiliar arousal. Still the free hand tries to reach more of the other body, switches from the edge of Jagdish's shoulder to the lower side of his torso, exploring his waist and hip.

Rather than continue insisting on keeping Tatenda pinned the way he is - the gesture having been purely symbolic in the first place - the grip on his wrist and hand relents, Jagdish's right hand travelling around Tatenda's body and dipping in beneath fabric to join the other, pushing fingertips down deeply into the warm depths to touch against his balls. The touch is brief, though, and a moment later sees both hands withdrawing, coming to hook themselves by the thumbs against the edge of Tatenda's underwear, and an instant later push down, peeling the clothes down to reveal more of that dark, shimmering skin. His right hand drifts to that pulsing rod of flesh, wrapping around it to eclipse most of it, gently travelling along it, even as Jagdish's teeth nip at the side and base of Tatenda's neck and his left hand frees itself from the folds that it pushed down to instead brush against the side of Tatenda's face, then sneak into the tightly wound strands of his hair to grab a hold of his head, tugging it back lightly. The touch of Tatenda's hips against his visitor's reveals a hardness not dissimilar to his own, although making no statement about how long, exactly, it's been there.

The slender, but nonetheless athletic body seems to be still very flexible as if Tatenda attends to daily training like he did as active gym leader. The rest of him is not very similar to the rather disciplined, calm man at the moment. His fingertips and thus nails dig into pale skin at Jagdish's hip to get a hold, when his trousers fall and he only is able to tremble gasping, twitching also with every little firmer kiss and touch at his neck.

At least one hand begins moving again, following the other's example by opening his pants - or rather trying it.

There's a light twitch to the body behind him, like an abrupt, quelled, violent motion, defining the entire form of the Arbiter - a silent objection to Tatenda's motions, perhaps. Even so, that objection seems short-lived, with no follow-up to the sudden motion coming to make a statement. Meanwhile, a silken touch wanders up and down Tatenda's length in a steady caress, nursing that heat into an impossible hardness, crowding pinpricks of alien pleasure into his belly and soft, fleshy orbs, twitching up against Tatenda in brief expression of an instinctual eagerness. The grip on Tatenda's hair pulses against his scalp, tugging like a light, painless rain of needles against his perception. A kiss finds the edge of his jaw, impossibly light, leaving more of the sensation to his imagination, it eagerly filling in the blanks.

Breath getting shorter and with more tensed pauses the dark body trembles more and more, while Tatenda looses more and more control over the actions of his hands, but still shows his will to give Jagdish back, even while just gripping hold in the end, already twitching, first drops wetting the tip of his pulsing rod.

The grip of Tatenda's length changes its composition, thumb rolling against his glans, curled fingers travelling along the underside, infecting his gut with what's grown to a swarm of crowding fireflies of pleasure. A lazy gaze glances at the night outside, the last hints of illumination from the sun at the edge of the sky above them, richly textured sea of light ahead of them in the cityscape that was once Tatenda's domain. The risk that anyone might walk by Tatenda's home to see him like this through the window is so slim to be non-existent, really, but that doesn't diminish what he might feel about it. Jagdish's left hand untangles itself from Tatenda's hair then, only to travel down to brush against the curve of his ass, lightly pricking fingernails against the firm skin there.

This awareness of visibility always knocked on the door of his mind, screaming to be let in, but the chaotic party of pheromones just accepted it as another addition to maximise his arousal. Surely he will worry about that fact later on. But for now he's almost unable to think at all.

When the grip in his hair vanished his head fell over again, he himself almost losing balance, so he jerked his arm forward, palm hitting the window frame to stop him from falling forward. His very last scrap of thought was the mess he will bring on. Some words gasped against the glass steaming it up, meant as some sort of warning, before his muscles cramp, him moaning and whimpering in one, twitching with every single shot of bright white fluid.

Spatters of white mar the smooth surface of the glass and the window's sill, partly collecting in the nook of the corner between the two, promising to make itself difficult to clean. A distantly surprised and excited breath escapes Jagdish, gaze reaching down to catch sight of what he's done, left hand drifting in light caress around from Tatenda's behind to his hip, curling against it gently, anchoring Jagdish against Tatenda. The stroke of that twitching length slows rather than ending its touch abruptly, only to finally pause at the base of that shaft, still hard as it is, applying another pleasant squeeze.

Heavy breath is the only thing that can be heard from Tatenda for a while, until he calms down a little and all the twitching and trembling slowly stops. Though he still makes a rather cute, whining sound mixed with still not fully gone arousal, when he is assured his highly sensitive parts remain hostage to Jagdish. His eyes search for the other's reflection, biting his lower lip while gathering courage. Then he half way turns around, nervous but determined. His dark hand rises to touch Jagdish's jaw gently, fingertips gliding along almost like a feather, then they curve around the neck to make room for soft, dark lips. First it's just a kiss near the chin, then the mouth corner, finally sealing the pale lips.

Jagdish's eyes close, focussing on the gentle touch of those lips against his skin, keeping his right hand's fingers where they are as if he'd forgotten where he put them. His left travels up that twisted spine, then touches the back of Tatenda's head anew, and as the man's lips find his own, he deepens the kiss, swirling his tongue with his, the motion slow and soft but infused with a certain hunger nonetheless.

A shiver of excitement and pleasure runs down this spine, when he tastes Jagdish for the first time. It feels much too good to care about gender, age, origin and anything else. There had been a time, when he cared a lot, tried to match community's construct of a man. He was thankful and surprised in one for still learning from this inhuman man.

And while the kiss and the playful dance of their tongues continue his free hand brushes fondling across the other chest, searching its way beneath the fabric to be able to feel the blank skin, its living heat.

Though his shoulders reccede a little, Jagdish makes no overt gestures to prevent Tatenda's exploration, left hand running fingertips and the crescents of his nails against Tatenda's scalp as much as the narrow braids allow, right only slow to withdraw from that warm, spent shaft, then travelling to touch against the skin of his belly briefly, only to rise up to caress the arm of Tatenda's so busy in its exploration, light touch creeping along the upper portion of it, leaving a hint of gooseflesh in its wake.

Barefoot as he is, Tatenda just kicks away his trousers blocking his feet from moving freely, though this hint of restraints somehow made a nice addition. A tiny thought of how abnormal and perverted he was comes across his mind, but is brushed aside by newly growing excitement.

He now fully turns around and starts to displace the fabric upward, to undress Jagdish.

Some part of Jagdish not fully taken by the gentle passion of the moment ponders the circumstance - surely this dance between them should be over now? The rest of him, of course, isn't interested in any such conclusion, obeying implied instruction as easily as if it had been programmed into him, peeling his shirt up and away, excused thinly by the notion that it really was too hot under there. Lust infects his kiss with fervour - a moment later, he pulls back out of it, though he's lost to his anticipatory pleasure, bright eyes full of a predatory gleam he can't quite shake, driven by an fleeting urge to seize a fresh hold of his companion and enjoy his body in a considerably more primal fashion; but he's done away with that notion long ago, of course, classic concepts of sexuality not quite meshing with his habits, cautiously danced around in equally fulfilling ways.

All actions taken by Tatenda are impassioned, but still in a way that still allows Jagdish to deny or escape them, if he wanted to. Respect, a small amount of fear and a long time hidden affection for this person are dictating his actions.

The dark eyes are almost asking for permission, when his hands again drift down to the seam of Jagdish's pants, tracing along that border to find the still shut entrance to manipulate the button and reach down into the warm darkness, slowly caressing silky skin.

✘ IN PROGRESS

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