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Chapter One - Smoke and Mirrors and Something Is Wrong

Finnegan had always loathed red carpet events, but he could only deny his clients so often. And besides: He was Casimir's guest of honor at the Victorious Gala, Unova's grandest and most notorious contest of the year, where that year's champion would be crowned. And the last time he'd refused this particular demand, it had taken months for the gossip rags to get over it. He wasn't psychic, but he could already see the headlines: "Antisocial Breeder To The Stars Finnegan Butcherbroom Snubs Champion Coordinator", or some other pathetic attempt at biting witticism that passed for Unova's so-called newspapers.

Flashing lights. Glamorous coordinators dressed in the latest and highest fashions from Kalos swanned across the runway carpets like grasses in the wind. Their outfits were all stunning, magnificent creations, each unique works of art tailored to the star coordinator's exacting and esoteric preferences, and in his mind's eye, Finnegan made a little amusement of guessing which looks would be the most memorable from this year's Victorious Gala. A lithe, tall figure wore a simple gown that poured across its body like a rushing river of silvery scales, its face veiled in a metallic golden mess of braided spider's silks. Even if its face wasn't hidden, Finnegan could guess that Philomena was almost certainly scowling beneath the sheer nets of spun threads. She never did take losing well, and she'd only placed third. He'd never tell her that her fashion sense was better than her coordinator's instinct. No point in losing her business, and Finnegan didn't mind her as much as some of his other customers. Perhaps having the best outfit might be some consolation to her.

The faces on the carpet all looked the same as they always did to him, unrecognizable and blandly beautiful. It wasn't their fault; between the stage makeup and their elaborate hairstyles and strange clothing, he had a better excuse than ever. He watched their Pokémon instead. About a dozen feet away a Milotic shimmered as it curled around its trainer. Finnegan was very proud of that design, actually; some might call it grotesque, the way its skin gleamed translucent and eerie, its organs pulsing with bioluminescence, its eyes withered away but its tendrils fringed and fractalized, sweeping through the air, tasting its surroundings better than its more traditionally-bred companions. It had taken most of his efforts a few years ago to find the right balancing of breeding pool and environment to birth that lineage, a complex mixture of Jellicents and Milotics in the darkest fissures of the Azure Bay, but at the end of that year, Finnegan had proved once again why it was that Philomena, Casimir, Thalie, and every other Unovan coordinator with aspirations for fame and notoriety sought out his services first.

He had to admit, though, if he had to choose a champion for this year, Casimir's Leafeon was the obvious choice. The newly-crowned champion tightened his grip on Finnegan's arm as he led the pair down the carpet, all his competitors moving off to the side and applauding with dignity for the riotous crowds. And at Finnegan's opposite side, Tsukiko herded them both down the runway with a haughty elegance that she no doubt deserved, the traditional diamond-studded golden wreath crowning her head like it would never leave. Like she was born to wear it. In many ways, Finnegan supposed, she had been.

"Casimir!" A reporter was shrieking above the noise of the crowd. "Champion Casimir! Please! Please, sir, a word for the Nimbasa Report?" Finnegan blinked at her owlishly before trying to hurry on, but again, Casimir's grip was iron, and Tsukiko subtly sat on his foot and preened, tossing a few angles for the nearby cameramen. They looked like they might weep with the joy of it.

"Of course," Casimir's voice rolled out from his face, deep and resonant. Unlike the reporter, he didn't need to shout to make his words heard; it was as though a spell was cast on their surroundings, silencing the nearest among them in a little bubble of what Finnegan guessed the reporter--they sounded like a man, he was fairly sure, especially with the cropped hair, but this was a fashion show at the end of the day--must have felt was some sort of intimacy.The Champion just had that sort of personality, when he knew other people were watching. Perhaps, in another life, Finnegan thought, he could have been a king. And here he's just the most popular celebrity tonight

"Oh Arceus, thank you! Thank you so much!" the reporter babbled a few times before getting to his question. Finnegan had already stopped paying attention, looking back out at the runway, trying to ignore the flashing lights. He still didn't recognize any of the coordinators, but most of them had their aces out near them. So that must have been Dittany chatting up Felice, because Felice's Froslass--thick white arms trailing across the ground like piles of snowdrifts and ice--was glaring at Dittany's bonsai-pruned Arboliva, perched on her shoulder and glaring snootily down at the ghost type, while their trainers seemed oblivious to the rivalry, murmuring to each other, standing next to each other like they couldn't wait to get a moment alone, out of sight–

"Finnegan," Casimir said into his ear, causing shivers to run up his spine. "You were asked a question."

Finnegan blinked, looking up at Casimir and smiled slightly. "Ah," he said. "My apologies."

"It is no trouble," Casimir said genially, adjusting his grip on the man he'd insisted with the strongest possible words that he had better fucking come to the performance tonight or so help him, God. His arm left Finnegan's and instead made its home against Finnegan's waist, pulling him in a little roughly, like one might a little brother, shaking him a bit like a dog would a toy. "You'll have to forgive him," he was saying to the reporter. "Doesn't get out enough to events like this, God knows we all try our best with him, but you know how it is with geniuses! We all love him anyway--even if it is just because he's the best at what he does!" Everyone who heard him laughed along, and Finnegan's smile grows a bit wider in just the way he'd practiced before with Philomena, the smile that said yes, it's true, we all know I'm an antisocial savant who simply does not have time for social niceties, but I'll forgive you for wasting my time so long as you make it quick.

"Repeat yourself for me, dear," Finnegan said to the reporter, using his free hand to pretend to push a stray curl of hair from his face.

"Hello, yes, of course sir," the reporter babbled on. "I'm Jules from the Report, just like I said, and I had a question for you, actually, Mr. Finnegan, sir." Sweet Arceus, he was laying it on thicker than buttercream.

"Ask it," Finnegan said, looking away again towards the most eye-catching Pokémon on display--the one at his feet. Tsukiko continued to preen.

"What was the inspiration for your choice for Casimir's Tsukiko this year?"

"Ah," Finnegan said, warming up a little towards the reporter. This was a question he could tolerate. "Well, that's simple. Look around you. Everyone in the Victorious Gala, obviously, brings their best to the contest. And with fees so heavily subsidized by the Unovan Bureau of Entertainment and PokéStar Studios, most of them use it as a chance to spread their wings as far as they can, without the limitations mere mortals have who need to worry about pathetic things like food and rent and bills. And it shows! Practically every single Pokémon here is either a unique beauty, perfectly designed to specifications and trained for this event their whole life, or comes from a lineage of tried-and-true stars--think the Galloping God from twenty years ago, nothing fancy comparatively, but his sire and his mare were both champions in their times. So my challenge was simple: Casimir wanted a champion. Someone who would stand apart even from the likes of what we see here today."

"It took some convincing," Casimir broke in easily, smiling all the while. "I don't know why I bothered arguing with him."

"You have the mind of a champion," Finnegan reminded him. "Not the mind of a coordinator. I told you–Julian, yes? Look around you. You are surrounded by paragons of the coordinator breeds, each trying to be more of a paragon than the last. It's been like that for years as our advances in Pokégenics have expanded with leaps and bounds. So I told him--"

"He told me that trying to stand out was the mistake," Casimir interrupted. "Every year has been filled with greater and greater spectacle, our Pokémon partners growing stranger and more exotic. Finnegan was willing to make me bet my career on the line that the judges would appreciate a return to tradition more than any attempts to push boundaries that were already at their limits, and the results speak for themselves."

The reporter thanked them both for their time effusively as Finnegan's gaze drifted once again to Tsukiko. Compared to the rest of her competitors, the Leafeon was nothing special. It had taken no extremes of budget, no terrible amount of time. Minimal sleepless nights, really. Most of it had been researching ancient historical annals of Hisui's Diamond Clan. They had kept meticulous records of their dietary practices, including for their partner Pokémon. Imitating the environment of such halcyon days had led to Tsukiko with barely any modifications--indeed, unlike most of the rest of the competition, she was arguably a true breed standard. Just from a very, very old breed.

Tsukiko's fur was palest pink bleeding into the deepest a lavender could reach while still being considered delicate. Rather than the traditional single thin, leafy tail and pricked, tattered ears of most Leafeon, her own ears fell to the floor in thick bunches of wisteria blossoms, and rather than a single stiffly upright tail, Tsukiko had been born with nine long, sweeping fans of matching blossoms, heady with a sweet fragrance. When raised, she could rival an Alolan Ninetales' elegance and stage presence, and she had known it from the moment Finnegan had watched her open her eyes on hatching. He worked hard, and was proud of his work as a rule, but he'd known long before Tsukiko's debut that there was no contest to this year's contests. She stood out from all the rest not just because of her bearing, but because of the elegance of her simplicity in breeding. She was unique because she did not need to flaunt her own uniqueness.

They'd started moving again as Casimir finished taking questions from the reporter. Tsukiko yawned as she continued leading them towards an idling limousine waiting for them. Another champion might have stayed long into the night, basking in the glory of their title, speaking with everyone important, but Finnegan knew Casimir shared his tastes in more than either of them would ever willingly admit aloud, and Finnegan had put his foot down on the one concession he'd been allowed to make when he'd accepted the invitation as Casimir's guest of honor tonight: No lingering.

He had work to get back to, after all. Always, always more work.

Tsukiko leapt into the front of the car into the passenger's seat, taking the opportunity to sneak in a last few poses for the desperate cameras. The crowds of reporters and photographers were frantic by this point, seeing the writing on the wall, knowing their chance for a scoop was leaving the city and would likely be unavailable for the next few days.

Finnegan ignored all them, leaning into Casimir in the backseat as the chauffeur silently began to drive. “You sure you don't want to see the sights a bit tonight?" Casimir murmured into his hair, his hand gently pulling the ribbon keeping it tied loose as it stroked his scalp. Finnegan leaned further into the other man and shook his head.

“No," he said quietly. “I just want to go home."

Nimbasa City peeled away from them in ragged clumps of neon and asphalt.

---

Days passed in a haze. Emails were left unanswered. Notebooks were opened and then tossed to the side. Finnegan's bedsheets had twisted in on themselves in a cocoon of a numbness that wasn't quite misery, and Casimir sat at his side and stared down at his best friend, brows furrowed in worry.

"This isn't like you," he said finally. "What's going on?"

He was right and Finnegan resented it. There was always that desperate lonely part of him that loathed Casimir for knowing him so well. It made him want to sink his teeth into the other man's guts. He settled for gritting his teeth instead and turning away to face the wall, trying to pull the sheets over his head. Casimir's hand stopped him, clawed fingertips pricking into his wrist. "Hey!" Casimir grunted. "I'm talking to you, Finn. Don't try to ignore me."

Finnegan grumbled, scowling without opening his eyes. "Just feeling off. I'll get up soon."

"You said that two days ago," Casimir argued. "When was the last time you ate?"

"Earlier," Finnegan lied. "Let go of my hand."

"No. Come on. You're getting up."

Opening his eyes, the breeder glared at Casimir. The man had taken his face off the second they'd gotten in the door; tufts of thick black fur spread across his cheeks and muzzle, hair grown wild down his back in thick bristly waves, tinged red at the tips. His eyes were the proper blue again. It was a relief to be able to know for certain who he was looking at; when he wore his stage face, it always just looked wrong.

"You aren't my handler," Finnegan growled, and Cas laughed.

"Then don't make me handle you," he replied, winking, and a bit of the tension left both of them. "Come on, Finny. You need to eat."

"It won't help." Finnegan didn't realize how certain he was of it until it was said out loud. Casimir's brow furrowed deeper; worried, now, rather than irritated.

"It won't hurt. Come on."

Finnegan took his time getting out of bed. The bedroom was a mess. Half-scribbled notes were strewn everywhere except the desk; textbooks and reference materials were the same. He blinked, tried to remember how it had all happened. He came up with fuzz and fog, his brain replying with blank space beyond the vague sense that he'd been upset about something. "What the fuck happened?" Finn muttered, following Cas and the smell of eggs down the hall to the kitchen.

Nobu was cooking breakfast. Casimir let go of Finnegan's hand as he pulled him towards the kitchen table to go greet his Pokémon with a quick kiss on the cheek; the Zoroark leaned instinctively to meet it without lifting his gaze from the stove, tilting his head to brush his chin against the coordinator's hair. Scent-marking.

"'What happened is a good goddamned question, Finn," Cas said as he sat down on the table. He was wearing a loose pair of grayish sweatpants; his wiry chest was twisted with furry tufts running up his shoulders and all down his forearms. "Because it kind of looks like you lost your mind."

Finnegan tried to remember again and came up with nothing again. Just a vague sense of absence, a hole in his memory, which made him realize something. "You said I said I'd get up soon two nights ago," Cas and Nobu nodded in a single motion; the Zoroark still hadn't turned away from the stove. "Casimir. How long was I--I mean, I can't remember--Casimir, how many days has it been?"

"First of all," Cas said, looking over to his partner, who had finally started plating what looked like some omelettes. "You need food. And water. And your meds."

"Cas--!"

"I'm going to tell you, damn it," Cas snarled. It was a proper snarl, too; not the sort of sound a human could make, but it suited him. "But you need to fucking take care of yourself first!"

Nobu came over with the plates, setting them down in front of all of them, briefly nuzzling up against Casimir again before sitting down between the two humans. "Eat," the Zoroark grumbled. "We'll talk later." Finnegan opened his mouth to argue, but the Pokémon and his partner glared at him with matching snarls that time. The dishes rattled against the table.

Finnegan picked up his fork and took a tentative bite. He couldn't really taste it, but suddenly a third snarl rumbled through the room as his stomach decided to chime in. It didn't take long for the three of them to finish breakfast; Casimir always had a big appetite, and Nobu always ate like he was suspicious someone would try and steal it from under his muzzle; Finnegan, who usually ate pretty lightly, just felt like he was starving.

There was a definite tension in the air as they put down their forks and Nobu stood up to grab the dishes, tossing them into the washer. "Casimir," Finnegan started, but the other man beat him to it.

"The gala was four days ago," Cas said bluntly. "The day after it you got up for work and you were acting...weird. You started trashing this whole place and screaming, crying, it was a mess. We couldn't get you to calm down, and you wouldn't let us call anyone. Nobu was worried he'd need to knock you out for a while, but you just...collapsed. Right on the floor. Like your body'd had enough and couldn't keep cashing in checks." He said it so matter-of-factly. Like listing off ingredients on a grocery list, or the daily forecast for next week's weather. Finn tried his hardest to remember any of what he was saying and failed.

Then he tried to panic about the absence in his memory and also failed. "Nobu, why am I not freaking out?" he asked, putting a finger up to his own neck and noticing his pulse was perfectly stable despite everything.

"You asked us to hypnotize you," Nobu grumbled, flicking a dismissive ear in his direction. "Really beggy about it. Was annoying, but you seemed fucked up bad enough we gave it a shot. Don't bother asking what we hypnotized you about. You told us we weren't allowed to tell you."

"I did?"

Casimir nodded, passing his glass of water towards Finnegan, who realized despite having poured it ostensibly for his own breakfast, he hadn't taken a single drink of it. The small act of quiet kindness was nice. And humiliating. He still drained it in a few gulps. "You were scared if we told you, you'd just spiral again," he explained gently, pushing a bristle of blackish hair off his forehead. "So you told us not to say what happened. Just that it had happened and that you couldn't keep going on like this."

Finnegan stood up from the table and walked over to the open window. The red clay hills of Lentimas cast the late morning air a swarthy cast that matched his skin. He fiddled pointlessly with a strand of his own hair, mirroring the motions Casimir had been doing earlier out of long habit. His workstation, a large set of three geodesic domes, nestled in a valley between the hills about a fifth of a mile away; bristly, thorny Apricorn trees covered the entire property for privacy. Even with the sun up, Finnegan could see a few ghosts huddling in the shade of the trees, massive staring eyes peering out from cracks in the leafy branches.

"Like this?" Finnegan asked, scoffing a bit. "I was whining about having a sprawling property and a wealthy customer-base and all the fame and leniency I could ask for? I threw a tantrum over this lifestyle?"

Nobu rolled his eyes and grabbed Finn by the hip to pull him close, grinding his hips against the human's front with a lasciviously sardonic grin. "Yes," he snapped, the grin turning into bared teeth in the blink of an eye. "Among other things. So take this fucking seriously, because just because you got to forget about it doesn't mean we did. You're taking a break from work. And you're calling Phil to tell her that she gets to handle things for you while you're gone."

"What?!" Finnegan spluttered. "Bullshit! What gives you the--"

"The right?" Nobu murmured, eyes glowing a dark and dangerous garnet as his voice lowered into a raspy, hoarse growl. "Where do you think rights come into this, little morsel?"

"Nobu..." Cas warned, but his mate ignored him.

"You're putting everyone through this bullshit because you were too scared to own up to it," he continued. "And now you're trying to fight us about it? Us? The people who give a shit about you the most? You think any of that's right, Finnegan Fucking Butcherbroom?"

"Then why'd you do it!" Finnegan heard himself shouting like it was happening in a far-off room. Casimir's voice was even farther off, saying something about panic attack and dissociative and can't let him--can't let him what?

Nobu shook him like a leaf in the wind, a clawed hand smacking his cheek lightly. "Hey. Dumbass. Start yelling at me again."

"What?"

"I don't like it when you get quiet like that, dumbass," Nobu said as Finnegan's eyes refocused in on the Zoroark. He could feel a second pair of smaller--but still quite big--hands on his shoulders now. Casimir's. "Are you getting it yet?" Nobu demanded. "Are you gonna be serious about this shit yet?"

The breeder turned his head to look up at the coordinator's face, a part of him relieved he could still recognize it. The same slope of nose into a muzzle; the same tufts of fur spreading across his cheeks. The same worried blue eyes. "Let's...let's take a vacation," Casimir suggested. "It's been ages since you took a break. I just won the Victorious Gala. Let's just...take some time to ourselves before any of us dive back into our work, yeah? Does that sound okay?"

Finnegan's brow furrowed. He looked up at his best friend. He looked up at his best friend's partner. He suddenly felt very, very small for having been so insensitive. Somewhere, in the back of his skull, he still felt that looming empty noise, and trying to remember anything about it and not being able to panic about it made him want to panic more, so...maybe a vacation wouldn't be too bad of an idea? Cas was right--it had been ages. Maybe it'd be nice?

"Where would we even go?" Finn asked. Nobu laughed, sharp and barking and high-pitched.

"That's a great suggestion, Finn!" he yelled, picking both of the other men up into a hug and spinning them around the room, turning the kitchen into a whirling, dizzying collection of sensations--thick, musky scent; sterile white tile; Casimir's woody cologne; eggs on the pan; red clay dust; love, love, love. "We'll make it a road trip!"

A few hours later, Casimir had sent Philomena a text that told her she was gonna be housesitting, and the three of them were racing through a mountain highway in Casimir's beat up truck, Nobu singing along badly to the radio, windows rolled down, and Finnegan wondered when the smell of the mountains would be replaced by the smell of the sea. He stared at his face in the rearview mirror, feeling himself start to frown.

Darkish curly hair. Reddish skin. Dark eyes. Lips; nose; ears; all the pieces were there. But like always, they refused to coalesce. As a child, the doctors had explained in polite, friendly voices that his faceblindness was “nothing to worry about", that “perhaps therapy and hypnosis might help", and then later on, told his father that his case was “severe" and that there was “nothing they could do". It was…fine. At least most days. Finnegan just scowled. He felt a claw poke him in the side, then again. He turned to look over at Nobu sprawled out in the backseat, no seatbelt on, nudging him with his foot. “What?"

“You're getting that look on your face," Nobu said, a sly smile twisting the corners of his muzzle up, yellowish teeth peeking out cheekily from his maw. “You should distract yourself with something worth your time. Long road ahead, ain't that right, Cas?"

“What, to Undella?" Casimir scoffed from the driver's seat, eyes on the road. “I ain't calling three hours a long road. It's the first stop, that's all it is." Away from his duties as a coordinator, as Champion, Casimir always held himself so differently. He'd once told Finn that keeping those illusions up was as frustrating as it was useful; on their own, he tended to slide back rapidly into the Western Unovan drawl he'd grown up with.

“Exactly!" Nobu said. “And our poor little burnout here needs a distraction. So why not give him one, huh?"

Brief pause. Finnegan looked over to Casimir like a deer caught in the headlights, wide-eyed and disbelieving. Casimir just rolled his eyes and shook his head. “You're the worst, Nobu," he said, but he smirked a bit when he said it.

“Come on," Nobu said, drawing out the last word in a wheedling whine. Between the Zoroark's legs, spreading a bit further apart, his sheathe twisted and lurching the tip of his pointed dick out into the air. His cocky scent hit the car like a train meeting them all perpendicular, even with an open window; Finnegan's eyes flicked from Nobu's cock to Casimir instinctively, watching the other human–though, admittedly, far less human than he was–dig his own claws into the steering wheel, chest tense as he fought the instinct to take a deep, long hit of his partner's scent.

Cas' jeans had tented immediately.

“You doing alright?" Finnegan asked. Casimir just chewed the inside of his cheek, rolling his fingers along the wheel as he tried to stay fixed on the road. The mountains of eastern Unova rolled past them on both sides; scraggly desert had turned into thick piney forests.

“Mmm." Finnegan watched the coordinator's jeans strain against his erection as it grew in tandem with the dark, wet smell of Nobu's musk. Quiet, damp noises were coming from the back seat, the sound of smooth pawpads on flesh slimy with precum.

“Do you need help?"

“Yes," Casimir admitted with an explosive sigh, shooting a vicious glare at Nobu through the rearview mirror. “Bastard."

“Get to work, Finn," Nobu grinned. “Don't mind me." A blatant muffled slap as he flexed his cock, spearing up to nestle between his pecs, flesh on fur. Lascivious. Needy.

Finnegan leaned over the cup holders separating his body from Casimir's, fingers finding the other man's jeans, flicking open the button of his fly, drawing down the zipper. “You alright to drive if I do this?" he confirmed. Casimir just gritted his teeth and shook his head like a Rapidash trying to get dust from its mane; his hair fell over his shoulders in bristling waves halfway down his chest.

“Just hurry up and suck my fuckin' dick, Finnegan," Casimir groaned. “Stupid fuckin' mutt in the backseat's being a pain." The mutt in the backseat just laughed unrepentantly.

Pulling Casimir's jeans down from his hips–he lifted himself a bit off the seat to help–flung Casimir's musk into the car too, predictably, and all three of the men moaned with it. Finnegan's mouth watered, not entirely out of desire, as the thickening haze of flesh, sweat, preseed, fur, and animal began swirling through their minds. Casimir's cock jutted up his stomach, drooling and spurting with sudden jerks and clenches as he whimpered when the cold air blowing in from the AC hit his sensitive flesh. Finnegan reached down and cupped one of his balls, fingers sinking deep into the black fur, each one an oily, heavy stone weighing against his boxers. “Finn, man, c'mon," Casimir begged, hips jerking forward once, no thought, all instinct and lust.

His cock jerked again as Finnegan grabbed it to hold it steady, wrapping around the slick garnet spire, and wordlessly–thoughtlessly–he bent across the seats and took the head into his mouth.

As always, it wasn't the scent that hit Finnegan first–especially in an enclosed space, where either Casimir or Nobu's musk would rapidly become omnipresence enough to become something akin to blindingly overwhelming–but rather the texture. Casimir's cock had once been human when they were both curious, idiot teenagers trying to determine what each of them enjoyed with their shifting bodies, but it had been years since then, and now it was just a thick, ruddy spire of what could only be called meat, coated in acrid, coppery slime that had already begun to wash away from the constant streams of pre his overproductive balls were so busy making. Above Finnegan's head Cas let out a groan that rapidly descended into somewhere beneath his throat, turning into a gurgling, rasping growl.

The breeder was only half surprised when he felt the familiar grip of the other man's hand dig into his scalp and shove him halfway down the shaft, hips pumping up to meet his lips–Nobu's musk had had years to work its way deep into his mate's hindbrain, practically training him to turn his higher functions off and focus solely on the reckless and primal urge to fuck, to cum. Breeding was never a priority; for Dark types, whose powers mirrored the fouler parts of the psyche, it demanded power, hierarchy; sex was merely an outlet, eggs only a consequence of the actions of command and corruption.

Once, the first time Finnegan had gotten sloppy drunk off some weird concoction of pink apricorns distilled in cedar, he'd confessed to Casimir that his dick suited him better this way.

The truck swerved, wheels screeching on the road as Cas used his free hand to pull to the side of the mountain highway, but Finnegan didn't pay it any attention as the other man's foot moved to slam on the brakes, jostling his head and pushing him down further into the act. Behind the thick layer of want and arousal he could hear Nobu laughing, barking, moaning, and Casimir's other hand grabbed his head too, immediately setting a brutal pace, punching his swelling knot against Finn's lips, his teeth; “Fucking slut, won't even question it if I say you gotta suck my fucking dick, only good for taking orders, desperate for 'mon dick 'cuz humans ain't good enough for ya," Casimir was snarling through gritted teeth, each word punctuated with a slam of the human's head up and down his shaft. “Can't control yourself around us, nothing more than a fucking bitch, not good for anything more than taking it, fuck, fuck, fuck!"

Both of the others were making as much of a mess as they were a cacophony; Finnegan couldn't think, just felt the unmistakeable jets of pressure and heat as Nobu's cum splattered across his back and shoulders, drenching his hair, getting stuck in the crevices of Casimir's needy hands. The Zoroark was jostling the car as he pulled himself out of the backseat, his fragrant cum soaking into the leather seats as suddenly Casimir's lusty tirade was silenced with a glrk. The Pokémon was bent practically double, one leg hoisted up on the console, one arm resting to balance on Finnegan's back, drawing his mate down to cover his own cock. “Got a real big mouth on you when you cum for a man who ain't any better," Nobu grumbled. “Put it to better use than talking shit to the egg, idiot, we've got a road to get back on."

Finnegan felt Casimir's knot pulse against the roof of his mouth at the same time Nobu's claws clenched, presumably with his own orgasm now muzzled in the other man's mouth, and lost himself in the hot, feral, unthinking pleasure of musk, cum, and pure, gnawing envy.