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Dancing in the Dark	By : megadeth425 Category: Pokemon > Het - Male/Female Views: 1981 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I don't own Pokemon and make no money from this story.

Chapter List
- 1-Dancing in the Dark
- 1
"Juniper ran the buzzing toy along her friend's thigh, teasing the milky flesh with its slow procession. 'Aurea,' Fennel moaned--wait, no. Moan doesn't work." Shauntal crossed out the last word messily. "'Aurea,' Fennel whimpered as she struggled against the binding on her leg."
Shauntal sat huddled on against her headboard, staring down at her abused notepad as she worked out the first draft of her newest story. Progress on it was slow, and after finishing that sentence she put the pad down, reached for one beside it, flipping open the pages. It was one of those nights, unable to do anything for more than a few paragraphs at a time, switching rapidly between five notebooks all in dire need of finishing. Her head was clouded, and the beginnings of writer's block appeared to be creeping up on her. It made it a desperate race to get something done and prove to herself she was still able to go. Even the thought of writer's block could be a crushing feeling.
"'It's been so long since I've had a man around the house,' Johanna purred as she held the flailing blond boy close to her, his face pushed against her breasts through her shirt. 'And you've been so good about keeping an eye on my little girl for me. Really, the least I can do is repay you like this. I want it too, so it's almost a little selfish, really.'
His eyes went wide as she pulled her long-sleeved shirt off and revealed her black bra and the small breasts that lay beneath them. She pulled him down into a chair and sat her in his lap, working his zipper off with one hand and pushing his face against her bare skin with the other. He had little choice but to kiss at her shoulder as her fingers slipped down the waistband of his underwear and ran across his young--Ugh!"
She tossed that notebook aside as well. "I'm sick of sitting around here, trying to write this book."
"You need a love reaction?" crooned a voice so distinct that its presence didn't even shock her. At the foot of her bed sat Grimsley with his legs crossed and a smile on his face. "Maybe I can help." He picked up one of the discarded notebooks. "'Ash, Iris, Cilan'. Hm, no progress on this one?"
Shauntal shook her head and pulled up another book. "None. That's a special one, I need to be a certain state of mind for it."
"You mean 'drunk'. Okay, fine." He picked up another, and his smile widened. "'Secret birthday wish'. Oh my, I think I have to--"
She jerked forward, grabbing the book and pulling it from his hands. It was flung across the room, and she leaned back, trying to look as nonchalant as she could, changing the subject. "Sorry, I got so caught up that I didn't notice you."
"It's certainly not the first time, nor the last." He worked his way up the bed and over to the purple-haired woman, who wore a peach-coloured nightgown. In her sitting, it had eventually brought the hem to rise up, and she promptly pushed it back down and readjusted a slipped shoulder strap. He ignored that motion as he lay on the bed and turned his head to kiss at her leg.
Her body jerked a little, and she let her legs open as she flipped to the notched page and began to write. "The loneliness vanished the moment Misty pushed the dildo slowly into herself. All of the cynicism and loathing faded as she focused on the beginnings of pleasure. Her fingers had helped, but only as the rigid plastic, the surface adorned with bumps and ridges, sank deeper, did she start to feel pleasure. Her fingers ran slow circles around her nipple and she pushed herself back against the mattress. Slowly, her eyes closed and she imagined the amalgam of vague ideas and traits that made up the so-called "man of her dreams". Dreams. That was really only where he existed, lost in realms of impossibility, serving only to make her self-pleasure more thrilling, and the coming-down later all the more painful."
The scrawling of her pen on paper was always a sure way to help Shauntal's productivity. It was why she still wrote first drafts in notebooks, because the thrill of the scratching sound carried her creativity further than typing. More helpful than that, though, was Grimsley. It had been a few months now, and it had been the most prolific few months of her life. He was her muse, her sounding board, and sometimes, her fuel. Between her legs, his slow, adoring treatment of her really got her going. Sexual sensation fuelled her mind in ways that nothing else could, and he kept it slow and restrained, merely teasing her into arousal. It would take an eternity for her to orgasm--though to be fair, it seemed an eternity before she finished something--so all that remained was short bursts of pleasure. Really, he could have touched her anywhere and it would have set her off, but she didn't tell him that so that he would reliably go down on her.
"Her hand began to withdraw, jerking back forward quickly and pushing down into her with the same speed. She cried out to her imaginary love, and he did it again, this time sending her legs rigid. The plastic penis moved in and out of her so quickly, but in the deluge of pleasure, she had almost convinced herself that it was him. That he was making love to her, and it was incredible." The notebook sailed across the room as Shauntal let out another groan of frustration.
Grimsley's head pushed aside the hem of Shauntal's nightie as he withdrew a slick finger from her folds and ran it along her thigh. His tongue licked the trail of juices it led, ending with a kiss on her moist entrance. The finger ran slow circles along her skin as he just kept his lips on her clit, rocking his tongue slowly against it, his whole body following suit in a slow heaving motion.
"'Ugh, yes!' Sabrina moaned, writhing and twisting in mid-air despite the invisible shackles on her wrists and ankles. A thick, long presence of psychic energy pistoned in and out of her hard enough to make her body heave with each push inside of her. Her head dangled forward and breath seemed scarce. Lucian had seemed like such an easy catch, and none too dominant, making it all the more surprising when he revealed his own psychic abilities by blocking her own and just seizing total control of her.
"His red suit lay discarded on the floor, and he sat on the bed, admiring his handiwork. Despite being naked and visibly aroused, he wasn't touching himself, taking more pleasure in watching her submit to him. ''Beg,' he demanded, not any kind of mental suggestion, merely a word. Still, she begged him." That book, too, found itself thrown away. "Dammit!"
Grimsley pulled himself away from her and groaned. "I rather liked where that was going."
"So did I. I just--I don't think sex is going to help. Writer's block is here to stay, and it's hell to get rid of."
He shimmied up the bed to her, wrapping his arms around her. "Then take a break. You've been working so hard lately, you're running dry. Just give it some time and you'll be fine again."
She looked at him and sighed, "You're probably right."
"So now that that's out of the way..." He began to tug at his pyjama bottoms, dark blue cotton pants with black bat shapes all over them, as an eye-rolling Shauntal kissed him. Sometimes, he was so predictable.

....................................................................................

A fresh notebook sat on the table in front of her, open to the first page and unmarred by words of any kind.
Just her luck, writer's block finally sank in the night before the Unova Elite Four was playing host to gym leaders from across the world. The gatherings were always prime material for Shauntal, but without the creative spark, she had nothing to work with. Still, she hoped something would show up and rekindle her fire. Something had to. So while Grimsley mingled and socialized, Shauntal just rubbernecked a lot, not really talking or paying heed to anyone.
Burgh and Lenora talked over drinks, the former's drink visibly girlier. Shauntal's mind tried to come up with something for it. Maybe something ten years earlier, before she married or he came out of the closet.
"'I could paint a thousand pictures of you," Burgh moaned as he kissed the nape of the woman's neck, running his hands along her wide hips as he thrust into her.
"'You have painted a thousand pictures of me,' Lenora responded with a teasing smile, pushing back against her very skinny friend. While his body may have been lithe and lean, other parts of him certainly weren't, and pangs of pleasure seized her with each thrust. Some men were intimidated by how much woman she had, but the timid little twig went at her with more conviction than she thought he could possibly have.
"He kissed her on the cheek. 'A thousand more, then.'"No. That wasn't going to work. The idea was there, but it needed something more. She'd think on it, return to it another time. Maybe ask how their friendship was before he came out, so she'd have something to work with.
It was killing her. Glances across the room turned up nothing, and the notebook seemed to taunt her. Writing was her passion, her greatest hobby, her happiness. All of her creativity went into it, and the result was something wonderful that others liked, which made it all even more fulfilling. Hell, her relationship was predicated upon it. While she was smarter than to think Grimsley would dump her for writer's block, it added so much to their relationship. To their sex. It enriched her sex life, and in turn enriched her writing. So carefully intertwined, one would feel less incredible without the other.
The longing should have driven her to finish the Misty story, but instead the parallels she began to draw in her mind saddened her. The Freudian implications of the pen she idly spun between her fingers being the same as Misty's dildo were issues she didn't want to touch.
Grimsley sat down beside her and sighed. "Come on, let's socialize. Forget about writing for a bit and have some fun. Talk to people. Make friends."
"Maybe you're right. I could use some time to--"
Just then, her eyes spotted Flannery and Lt. Surge. The two sat at a nearby table, and she could just make out what they were saying from where she sat.
"Ooh, tough guy. I bet you're all talk."
"See these muscles?"
"Yes, and frankly, I'm not impressed."
Maybe those weren't their exact words. In fact, they probably weren't. But the parts of Shauntal's mind in charge of perception and rationality promptly shut up, as something deep inside her screamed with joy. She clutched Grimsley's arm and squealed, "You can't start a fire without a spark!"
Grimsley pulled away a little, patting his sleeve where she ruffled it. "What are you--again with that song? Really, last night's was enough."
"No! I have an idea." Her pen pushed into the paper hard enough to tear the page, and she began writing frantically.
Grimsley watched in shock as the hand moved deftly, with speed he hadn't seen in weeks. The words were legible to him, having grown accustomed to her chicken scratch, and immediately they hit him hard. "That's--yes." No sarcastic comment, no smarmy remark, just agreement.
"It's panning out," she said excitedly. "We need to find somewhere and make up for last night.""There's the coat room. Few people should be arriving or leaving at this time."
"If there weren't people here, I'd almost suggest the table. Yes, let's go." She stuffed the notepad into her purse, deciding she'd write it in the act and get it on paper later. More pressing matters needed her hands. Together, they went for the coat room at the fastest pace they wouldn't get noticed for.
Shauntal shut the door behind them when they entered, and Grimsley was already working his pants off. "You know what I want you to do," he said, his usual smoothness edged with a heavy breath.
"Fine, but you're replacing these." She reached down to her pelvis and tore a hole in her tights. "I'm going to run out of these one day because of your fetish."
"Shut up, you love it," he said, sitting down on a small bench that ran along the walls of the room. He pulled Shauntal into his lap such that his penis rested between her nylon-clad thighs and his hands on her flower. "Now, write."
"From the start, they proved a volatile mix. As soon as their lips met, the fight was on. Even undressing each other was a hassle in this new world. Both were incredibly dominant partners, overwhelming whomever lay in their bed and controlling the proceedings. When they met, it was a matter of unstoppable force versus an immovable object, and in their wake would be nothing but destruction. His hands pushed on her bare shoulder and she fought his attempts to force her to her knees surprisingly well, angling her feet for leverage as she instead tried to push him down to service her instead."
Shauntal made slow motions in his lap, her thighs clamped tightly around his shaft as she moved. The slow build as she got him off with her thighs, the nylon masturbating him, was wonderful. His hands responded in kind, forced down her top and her skirt, working her nipple and labia at the same speed. He kissed her neck at the end of each word, a small little rhythm thing they got going whenever she read to him. It regulated her pace a little, making her try her best to keep it rhythmic when his hands on her body made her want to trail off and just enjoy it.
"Surge was used to women looking up at him as he lay on the bed and was serviced. But he wasn't used to a fierce glare looking back up at him, or a head resisting his hand so much. She licked at his tip, pushing back against his push, his insistence she go deeper. Just because she was giving him head didn't mean he was winning. She was just impressed by his size and wished to indulge herself. Besides, the longer she resisted, the more likely he would bend and start eating out of the palm of her hand. Or other places, perhaps. All men had a limit, she knew from experience, a point where the game became futile in the shadow of pleasure a woman as skilled as she could provide. The struggle was only an entree."
Grimsley purred, "I thought we were finished with food puns after that Cilan story, dear." As he spoke, he began to grind against her soft rear in his lap, adding to the pleasure of her thighs on his shaft as it poked through. In all her motion, she had slid down a little, so that it now rested against her mound and the back of his hand that gave it attention. She only responded with a brief whimper that interrupted her flow before she kept composing the story again. He was impressed by her speed and fervour, and pleased she had overcome her writer's block.
Her head rested on her lover's shoulder as her careful motions began to waver. An undercurrent of lust ran along her voice, and she began to merely move up and down, clenching her legs together tightly as they grinded in synch. She couldn't remember the last time he dry-humped her, or the last time she had been so quick to compose during sex. She felt that the time for slow, careful teasing was over. The sex they should have had the night before was right there, in the coatroom.
Oh, Arceus. They were in the coat room. She had forgotten all about that, about the added risk and rush of adrenaline that came with it. This wasn't tender lovemaking on her bed. This was in public. The thought drove her wild as she added her own hands to Grimsley's and shuddered.
"When Flannery made her move, it wasn't a surprise. Still, he let it happen, for reasons he wasn't quite sure of. Maybe the thrill of the fight, of the competition and the struggle, was worth more than he gave it credit for. The redhead bolted up his body, snapping her thighs to his hips as she pushed herself down on his length in one sudden motion. Her hair fell loose and covered his face, a visage of teeth-baring ferocity behind the red veil. When their lips met, it was possessive. The only thing up for debate was who was really possessing whom. Flannery's shapely body moved with quick, heavy motions atop his. Their kiss was a great cover for the sudden, intense pleasure her fierce riding brought them both, suppressing moans and groans beneath the sound of their sloppy, angry kiss. Her hands were on his shoulders and his were in her hair, and neither would admit the other was making them feel good. It was just something they couldn't do, a level of pride they weren't willing to swallow under any circumstances.
"'Nice muscles, big boy. Too bad you aren't using them.' She teased him, running her hand along his bicep.
"He smirked, bucking up against her hard and kneading a breast. 'Got to be gentle with ladies. If I'm too strong, it could be a problem.'
"'I'm a big girl,' she panted. 'I can take it.'"
The teasing of Shauntal's thighs had grown too little for him, too unsatisfying as his arousal escalated and he needed more. He pulled his hands from her breasts and her flower, and the purple-haired author knew immediately where things were going. She lunged forward, bending over the bench-thing along the wall opposite them and raising her lower body to him. A rumbling purr in his throat made her melt as he seized her hip, and a loud tearing sound made her back arch from the anticipation alone.
"Whether or not she regretted her claim of being able to 'take it' as Surge pushed her against the wall was a matter for another day. At the moment, all that mattered was his hands on her body, her legs wrapped around his hips, and something large pounding her into nirvana. As he re-entered her, her composure failed and she gasped in pleasure, letting out a single, lust-wracked 'yes' as his powerful thrust rattled her body. It wasn't surrender and they both knew it, but Surge had to tease her anyway.
"'Looks like you've finally come around,' he panted, mocking her with false smugness.
"She responded by digging her nails into his back and throwing her head back. 'Not quite, just come to terms with things. I'll get my turn soon enough, won't I?'
Shauntal's voice grew more frantic, and without Grimsley's lips to keep time, cadence in her words slipped away. Her skirt was pulled up around her waist, pressed down by Grimsley's firm hold on her body. Each push into her radiated warmth that made her cry out louder than she should have, but there was no real problem there. The party just on the other side of the door was loud enough for them to do whatever they wanted while avoiding notice, so whatever threat of being caught was independent of their noise. Largely because of that, they made no efforts to silence themselves, moans and off-the-cuff smut rising over the sounds of flesh slapping together with each strong push of his hips.

"On the floor, Flannery again seized control with Surge sitting against the wall, leaving the redhead to bounce in his lap. His rough treatment of her breasts was simply incredible, so forceful and intense, like nothing her more docile partners could ever provide. His tongue and his hands did things that made her dance in his lap, her voluptuous form swaying and writhing against him. 'Fuck, harder!'" Shauntal howled Flannery's line as her glasses fell off of her face and clattered onto the floor beside them. There was an intensity to his thrusts she hadn't seen in a long time, and the feeling was incredible.
Her slick inner walls clamped down hard on the gambler as his girlfriend moaned and writhed, still trying to spin her tale through stuttered words and heavy breaths. He was closer, though, unable to contain himself as a sudden orgasm blindsided him. He groaned and jerked back from her, some garbled word passing his lips as his shaft pressed to her thigh and spurted his seed on her nylons and to the floor. He fell limp against her and made a sound of apology as she sighed.
"You're usually not so quick," she smirked, feeling around for her glasses. "Something wrong?"
"Shut up," was all he could muster as he peeled himself from her.
Shauntal pulled a handkerchief from Grimsley's pocket as they stood up, and she began to wipe the white globules off her leg with one hand, while adjusting the skirt with the other. "You know, when men reach a certain age, they begin to--"
"Shut up," he repeated through gritted teeth as he tucked his softening penis away.
"Fine," she pouted, sticking her tongue out at him. "But you owe me. Pray inspiration strikes me again today."
As they started for the door, it swung open, and the wide grins on Flannery and Surge's faces dimmed.
"Are you guys in the middle of something?" Flannery asked nervously.
"No," Shauntal said as she passed them. "Just finished." Grimsley followed suit, and they shut the door.
"How did you do that?" he asked, stunned that the two were going into the coat room for pretty unambiguous reasons."
"It's a gift."

...........................................................

Not as good as the last one, I think, but it's sort of a bridging piece. I want to do a lot more with this pairing. Some of the teased snippets I wrote may go the route of Three Courses and get a full story of them, so definitely let me know if any pique your interest.
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Dancing in the Dark