FSE

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The locker rooms were old and dank, reeking of the countless Pokemon that came and changed in it. A wooden door, rusted at the hinges and handle, creaked as it opened up, letting in an Infernape and Incineroar who had just finished their match.

"Wait, are you telling me I drank a Gogoat's..." the monkey started, bringing both gloved hands up to his mouth in shock.

"Where did you think it came from, lil' fuego?" the tiger laughed back before finishing up his second bottle of "milk." A plastic thud confirmed that the striped fire-type hit his mark, and he turned back at the Infernape. "You seem surprised for a puto who unloaded in his opponent's mouth."

The flame on the Infernape's head flared up as a blush formed under his fur. "I thought it was pretty hot," he muttered, rubbing his gloves together sheepishly. Wanting to change the subject, the monkey asked, "So how long have you been watching me, Bandit?"

While they were walking, the one known as "The Striped Bandit" lightly nudged the smaller fire-type over towards the showers, recalling the first time he saw the spectator-turned-contender in the audience. "You've been coming to our fights for months by now," he mused, still trying to pinpoint the exact night.

"The Blazing Fist," as the Infernape called himself before his fight, couldn't help but smile at the thought of the Incineroar looking out for him every time he stepped into the ring. "I'm flattered by your attention," he admitted, only just now realizing where The Bandit was taking him. "I tend to make a point not to stick out in a crowd."

"What kind of an entertainer would I be if I didn't recognize my fans, señor?" The Bandit yelped, pressing a gloved hand to his chest as if his opponent's words had wounded him.

The Infernape shrugged. His smile got swept away by a moment of thought. "Every other name in the spotlight?" he answered, giving the star another uncertain shrug.

Just like that, The Striped Bandit pushed The Fist against the shower walls, looking down at him with fire in his eyes. He brought a gloved fist under the smaller male's muzzle, and lowered his own head, bringing it down to The Fist's level. When he saw the shock in the Infernape's eyes, he smiled, baring his fangs for the monkey to see. "Then allow me to change your mind, señor," he purred, widening his grin with great deliberation.

The Fighting-type shuddered as childhood memories came to surface. His breath quickened, and his eyes quivered with desperation, only to narrow into a scowl a moment later. Snarling, the Infernape shot a glare back at the Incineroar, barking, "All right, Bandit. You remember who's in charge tonight? Now, bend over." His fists clenched, threatening to catch fire from the pressure, and his head flames flared once more, more than ready to go another round with the cat.

Nothing more needed to be said. The tiger shrunk as he bowed in obedience to the victor. His ears fell to either side, and any fire in his mouth had long been extinguished. "Didn't mean to scare ya there, amigo," he snickered with a twinge of guilt before pressing his upper body up against the wall, wrapping his tail along his waist for hassle-free access to his hind quarters.

Tensions were still high for The Blazing Fist, who wasted no time slipping out of his gloves. One after the other, he bit down on the freshly-used yellow leather, pulling his hands out before spitting each one onto the waterlogged tiles. His trophy looked on at the discarded gear with his mouth ajar and eyebrows raised. The Infernape, was too busy relishing the freedom of his digits to realize that The Bandit had already stood up until he bothered looking away at his own hands. "What are you doing?" he interrogated, looking on at the tiger squatting over where he tossed his equipment.

The Striped Bandit shook his head while he watched water drip from the victor's rentals. "You're gonna ruin them at this rate, hermano," he sighed, rising back to his feet to take the gear back to the lockers. Annoyance was apparent in his voice, but The Fist never saw any muscles tense up. After another shake of his head, the striped boxer set the loaner gloves down on a bench while he took his own off.

The flame-headed monkey followed The Bandit back to the musk-riddled changing rooms, unable to say much in protest to his former opponent's conduct. He could, however, ask a question in earnest, even if it was a bit blunt. "Why do you care so much about the gloves? You don't even wear them."

At that, the Incineroar waved the rental gloves in front of the Infernape's face. "Yeah, and if the next guy wants to use them and they get all moldy, then what, amigo?" he asked, stopping for a second to let the thought sink into the victor's flaming head. He got no response, and took the gloves back to a nearby rack. When the Dark-type finally returned, The Fist was still speechless, and his head flame died down to a simmering cinder. Just like his Infernape peer, The Striped Bandit had also cooled off from his fit of disgust to realize that he was doing the victor a grave disservice. "Lo siento, señor; I shouldn't have been so hard on you," he apologized, pulling the monkey in for a warm hug in an attempt to comfort him.

While his face was buried in the larger male's pecs, the Infernape reflected on his own poor behavior. To allow such a base fear cloud his thoughts made him realize just how much more he had to learn in the world of Martial Arts. After all, were The Bandit as savage as he believed he was at that moment, he wouldn't have been nearly as receptive to his commands. The scents of the two fire-types intermingled and faded into the rest of the locker room, and knocked the monkey back into reality just in time to notice that the tiger had dropped to his knees in front of him, nuzzling his white belly fur, as if he were just a big Skitty. "I never thought I'd see this side of you," The Fist chuckled sheepishly, rubbing The Bandit's red lower muzzle with a guilty smile on his face.

The Dark-type laughed back, "I'm just getting a feel for what you want, señor." The Fist's face relaxed when the big cat winked back at him, and he continued running his hand through the red fur. The Bandit took this as a sign to keep going, brushing against the white fur with his nose. Every now and then, the cat would take a sniff, letting out a satisfied purr at what he smelled. Gradually, he raised his body, until after several minute's worth of nuzzling and sniffing, he was resting his head on the monkey's toned pecs. Another chuckle escaped The Fist's lips, and his hand moved from the tiger's muzzle to his stiped biceps. The monkey could've sworn he heard a mewl as he did so.

"How could I ever think you'd attack me out of the ring?" The Fist thought to himself while he felt up the Incineroar's muscles, drawing warm purrs out from his chest. The tiger's arms rose where he fell, and his hands grasped the monkey's flanks while he tickled the brown thighs with his nose. It was only at this time that the Infernape realized that he had already grown up to half mast under The Bandit's embrace. "I guess I shouldn't expect less from a veteran like you," he mused, bouncing his half-boner on the palm of his right hand.

As a joke, The Fist swung his hardened shaft left and right with his hand, lightly slapping at The Bandit's mug with each pass. After a half-minute of teasing, the monkey finally stopped, figuring his trophy got the hint by now. The big cat opened his maw with a low-pitched "Aaaaaahhhh~" This time, the Infernape buried his entire rod, letting it in slowly to keep the big cat from gagging while he plunged further in.

The Incineroar's tongue glided along the Infernape's shaft like a length of silk wiping a stone statue. Moans and hums were exchanged between Bandit and Fist, a mutual agreement that the cat was playing his part to the nines. Shocks of pleasure built up in the Fighting-Type's head as his partner slicked up his stone-hard rod, and his senses of guilt and reservation leaked out of his tip with his pre. It wasn't long before he played his own part, seizing the tiger's head and rolling his hips to and fro.

The rhythm picked up after some time, and the Incineroar had to hold onto the Infernape's hips just to keep himself steady. His silver tongue slid along the over the monkey's rod with every thrust,sending shocks of pleasure up the victor's spine. His pointy ears perked up and his eyelids dropped in smug satisfaction, but in this small window of pride, he allowed the victor's cock to prod at his throat, and his eyes flew wide open in shock. Immediately, he had to push away from the Infernape, shoving the smaller male into the lockers behind him while he coughed up the unpleasant feeling from his body. "Perdón," he began, clearing his throat before he looked up at his master for the night. "But it wouldn't do if you blew your load without taking me for a ride, señor." At that, the Dark-type turned around and leaned up against the lockers in front of him, wrapping his tail around his waist again for the monkey.

The Fist regained his composure, and he looked down at the bent-over Bandit. Still guilty about how he acted the last time he was in this position, he looked around for any sort of lubrication for his partner for the night. It was at this time that he started pining for his pants; the one time he actually brought lube and had the chance to use it, he decided to abandon his clothes. He looked to the entrance in frustration, and sure enough, his garments were lying right in front of the door. Not wanting to waste too much time, the Fighting-type leaped at his clothes and rummaged through his pockets for his wallet. When the monkey withdrew it, a folded piece of paper fell out, and he picked it up. Unfolding the slip, he saw upside-down writing and turned it around to read it.

"You put on a good show tonight.

Just try to remember your clothes next time.

-Rudy"

A shy chuckle escaped the monkey's lips before he returned to the crouching tiger with his belongings in hand. Holding on to his wallet, he let his clothes fall onto a wooden bench before shuffling around for a packet with GOODRA (For Males) printed along its side. Ripping a corner open with his hands, he squeezed out a thimble's worth of green, viscous liquid onto his finger tip, using his thumb to spread it all around his index finger. Now with his digit covered in the stuff, The Blazing Fist dropped to three limbs behind The Bandit and drew a sticky circle around the Incineroar's ring, drawing another hum from the big cat as the pink and green circle clenched from the chilly sensation. The Infernape swallowed down his throbbing heart, and he plunged his pointer through the pucker, the act eased by the lubricating coating.

"Ohh, yesss~" The Striped Bandit moaned, flexing his muscles while his rings closed in on the monkey's finger. By now, blood had begun flowing to his loins in spite of his prior orgasm. The Infernape behind him wiggled his digit, coating the rest of The Incineroar's rings in lubricant. His rings clenched around the victor's digit, and he consciously slowed his breath to relax his muscles.

When The Fist pressed against The Bandit's sweetspot, there was no more doubt in his mind: The Incineroar really did mewl! "Cute!" he thought out loud, still coming to grips with the disarming sounds the cat was making. When his mind returned to the fact that his knuckle was pressed up against red cheeks, the Fighting-Type gradually pulled out, figuring that he got as deep as he wanted with his finger. After he wiped the digit on the striped firestarter's thigh, it was time for the main event.

Swiping the used packet of GOODRA (For Males) lubricant off the stone floors, the Infernape squeezed the rest of its contents onto his shaft, and just like with his fingers, made sure to spread the liquid all over his length. From the amateur prostate inspection, he figured that the Dark-type had taken bigger guys than him, but he still didn't want to hurt him. At least, not anymore. The monkey had to squat to bring his shaft on the same level as the tiger's hole. His left leg was bent between The Bandit's thighs, while his right was straddling over the larger male's hips. A deep breath steeled his nerves, and he pressed his cock between the big cat's cheeks. Slowly, the white-furred fire-type exhaled as his tip pushed through each of The Bandit's rings.

Pained moans flowed out from the Incineroar's muzzle as the intruding shaft jolted memories back into his mind. The Blazing Fist was not wrong in his conclusion. The Striped Bandit winced as he recalled his embarrassing defeat at the hands of a Nidoking last year. The Hawlucha that knocked him out weeks later complained about how loose he was before agreeing to oral instead. He had since recovered, but the subsequent month-long layoff was enough to drill in a sense of regret for that loss.

But that worry was neither here nor there. The Infernape had to lean over and wrap his arms around The Incineroar's torso for support. The Flame Belt heated the monkey's belly, but as a Fire-Type, he never minded it too much while he continued grinding against the big cat's walls. When he thought about it, this was his first time in years. Most of the time, he'd either be out training or working with the kids at his job. Not that it was a problem for him; it was satisfying enough for him, most of the time. It was at this point that he began to think about why he even began watching such a seedy show in the first place, much less come back for weeks. To say nothing about actually participating.

Both minds thought back to that first match while The Fist got into a steady rhythm. It was a Tuesday night. Most of the regular watchers had work to wake up for, which meant the stadium was much less packed that it was this night. The monkey just so happened to have the day after off, which meant he could actually afford to stay up.

It was a friend who suggested he watch these shows a while back. "You've got a thing for fighting, don't you?" the friend asked, recalling a few times he caught the Infernape with a stiffy during his matches. "I think you'd enjoy it." The Fire-Type's head flames rose at the thought, igniting a flame in the ceiling that was promptly put out by the building's sprinkler system.

When he first entered the arena, traces of an odd incense tickled his sinuses. Looking around, the Infernape spotted four Musharnas sitting right at the corners behind the metal barricades, spewing a faint purple mist from their snouts. Curious about the validity of his friend's claims, the Fire-type approached one of the pink tapirs and asked what the smoke was for. "Why don't you see for yourself?" the Musharna responded, and promptly exhaled a puff of smoke square in his face. The sudden surge of indescribable odors triggered the monkey's gag reflexes, and he pounded his chest a few times to help himself cough. When he did, he felt a spark running through his body, and he had to swallow his heart from the sensation. The Psychic turned back towards the ring, and the young Fighter took his seat around a small crowd of other Pokemon.

The scent took some getting used to, but the flame-headed monkey warmed up to the aroma just in time for the opening ceremonies to finish and the first match to go underway: A heated duel between a Lucario and a Blaziken that ran the timer, forcing the judges to pull their hands out of their pants and actually come to a decision. While he has seen stronger and more refined performances, the Infernape had to applaud their self-control under such distracting conditions. Even though he was only watching the two Pokemon going at it, his cock was already jutting out from his jeans.

The next matches came and went, each one of them ending in climax. The Blazing Fist could recall exactly when the outcome of the match was sealed. A hanging maw from a Machoke. The lapse in a Dragonite's guard. The subtle shaking of a Sawsbuck's legs.

Everybody watching was here for the same reason, so there was little reason to feel ashamed about popping a stiffy. After an hour's worth of beatings and "beatings," the Infernape made himself at home in the audience stands. Small talk was exchanged during the matches, and the monkey even got a bit of background on the fighters he saw in the ring from the regulars in between.

Which is exactly why he looked down on the tiger in the first place.

"The Striped Bandit?"

"Yeah, he's made a real name for himself these past few years," a Passimian explained to him, pulling some tissues from his species' signature berry. "A lively and talented fella, but there's a reason why the ref's got that look on his face right now."

After bumming some spare sheets, the Infernape's eyes followed his elder's finger back to the ring, where he saw the stripe-shirted Grumpig hunched over, his jaw drooped from dreadful anticipation. Off on the opposite corner of the stadium, the Fist saw a robed figure marching up to the ring, jabbing at the air to warm himself up for his fight.

When he reached the square circle, The Striped Bandit took off his robe, revealing a thick, red, and striped body underneath the silken piece. The Grumpig retrieved the article from the large contender, and got a jarring pat on the head in return. While the ref was trying to reorient himself, The Incineroar scanned the crowd around him, grinning back at all the familiar faces until he caught sight of the Infernape. "I didn't know we had a new guest tonight!" he exclaimed, but the incessant noise deafened all but the Psychic to his words. The stripe-shirted swine said some words in protest, but The Bandit wouldn't be able to tell you even if he tried to remember. Whatever he said, the Incineroar replied, "Then let's make this match extra special for the newcomer, hermano!" before patting the Grumpig on the back.

The force behind the energetic gesture was enough to knock the psychic off his feet, face-first into the canvas. While the Grumpig struggled back to his feet to set aside the boxer's robe, The Striped Bandit merely laughed. "Is it like this all the time with the Incineroar?" the Infernape asked the Passimian, already clenching his fists at the sight of the feline.

"Every night," the berry-headed monkey answered, already reaching under his shorts for a "third round."

At around this time, The Striped Bandit's opponent stepped onto the stage. A Pyroar, just as well-built and imposing as he was. In an effort to establish himself as the dominant male, the maned Fire-type let out a roar that shook the arena, but the Incineroar's expression never shifted.

"You think your mewling is gonna scare me, puto!?" The stripe-furred cat balked. The Pyroar's roar had silenced the spectators, so everybody around could hear The Striped Bandit's boasting. "If you want me to fear you, then get over here and make me!"

All the Infernape could think in that situation was "What a blowhard."

More pleasantaries were exchanged between the two felines before the bell rang, and the Pyroar wasted no time in rushing down his opponent. He never let up on the Incineroar as long as he kept punching, but the Dark-type made no attempt to strike back. Instead, The Bandit laughed while he flexed his muscles, mocking his opponent's futile attempts to weather the wall of striped fur. After a minute, the lion wore himself out, and he was hunched over in front of his striped counterpart.

The Dark-type gave a wink back to the Fighter in the stands before winding up his counterattack. The Infernape couldn't watch as the Incineroar knocked his exhausted opponent flat on his back. The Pyroar's hips rose off the ground for a good second before his cock gave out, shooting three ropes into the air that fell onto his barely-touched body. When the bell rang, The Striped Bandit gave one more pose for the fans, sending them all into a heated frenzy before exiting the scene. All of them, that is, except one.

As he watched The Bandit leave the ring, the fire-headed fighter decided that it was time to call it a night. After thanking the Passimian for the tissues and giving everybody around a round of See you's,

the young monkey headed back to his place to mull over those fights. As he lay on his bed of carved stone, the Fire-type reflected on the show, and his mind immediately turned to that last match. The unwillingness to even block his opponent's moves was a grave disrespect on the end of The Bandit, and his attitude towards the referee left a bad taste in his mouth but ultimately, the monkey couldn't let that spoil the rest of the show for him. By the time he came to this conclusion, the stone surface had warmed up from his heat, and he quickly fell asleep soon after. But even today, the big cat's laughing face was burned into his dreams.

In reality, the flurry of punches hurt The Striped Bandit. A lot. To the point where he had to lie in his house to rest his aching body the day afterward, even after his post-match milk. When he picked up a phone call from his coach, his ears started to ache as well. "You hothead! I thought I told you no showboating during matches!" the Kommo-o on the other end roared, and the scales on his body echoed his bellowing voice. Still, even as he hung up in pain, the Incineroar couldn't help but smile, hoping the monkey enjoyed the show as much as he did.

Speaking of enjoying...

"I'm close!"

The Blazing Fist did not need to say that; the Incineroar underneath could feel the shaft coating his walls with the primer. The hot pink flesh spread the viscous liquid throughout The Striped Bandit's hole throughout the ride, and each stroke smoothed out the first layer, only to for the next. A minor flash back to a less pleasant romp made the monkey appreciate the performer for "cleaning house" beforehand.

By now, a sizeable puddle of pre formed on the concrete beneath the panting pugilist, a sign that he was overdue for a second round. Stifled moans leaked out from scowling jaws as monkey and tiger neared their peaks. One hard prod against his prostate broke The Bandit's facade, pushing a horny growl out from his now-opened muzzle. Two more pounds knocked him over the edge, and he roared as another load of hot jizz shot out from his shaft, whitening the translucent puddle beneath him. The climactic roar filled the room, drowning out the lustful cries of the Infernape riding him. The only apparent sign that The Fist was wrapping up was the sudden surge of warm liquid filling up his insides.

When the young fighter pulled out from his "trophy" for the night, thick droplets of liquid pearl dripped down from The Bandit's vault, adding themselves to the massive hoard below. Exhausted as they were from their fight and subsequent romp, both fighters had the discipline to not just collapse into a hot mess right there. On the contrary, The Bandit rose to his feet a minute later and marched to his locker to retrieve a towel and some club soda to clean the sticky stuff off the floor. As the big cat moved, however, The Blazing Fist was quick to see his legs and arms shudder under his weight.

A guilty sigh left the monkey as he watched The Bandit clean up the scene of their crime. When the big cat finished up, The Blazing Fist lent a hand to help him onto a nearby bench and sat down right next to him. "I don't know if I thanked you for this, but I had fun tonight," he pondered out loud. When he looked up at the Incineroar, he was smiling back down at him. "It warms me to see someone so passionate about his work."

"No need to mention it, mi amigo," the Incineroar purred. He brought his hand down to pet the Infernape, but the flames on his head made him bite his lip. In spite of his typing, he was not immune to the heat. Still, he pressed on with his kind gesture, braving the pain to fully demonstrate his own appreciation for the young fighter. "I'm just glad to see you enjoy our show." When he finally pulled his hand back a second later, the big cat rubbed at the charred fur and flesh, and the two shared a round of laughter before getting back into some clothes and getting out of the lockers.

On their way out, monkey and tiger smirked as they passed by a Pangoro carrying his Typhlosion opponent inside. When they stepped out into the parking lot, it was time for them to part ways. They said their goodbyes and walked off on their own. Before they could go too far, however, The Striped Bandit called out to the victor one more time.

"Come back again during the day, amigo! There's one more thing waiting for you!"

The thought of getting anything more surprised the Infernape, and he had to ask what it was.

"Your pay!" The Bandit explained. "You didn't think we'd snub you for your performance, did you?"

The Fist laughed once again, as the possibility of compensation had completely slipped his mind. After giving a few more words of thanks to the tiger, the monkey returned home, smiling the entire way. When he lay on his stone bed, darkness and exhaustion worked their magic, and he fell asleep within the minute, even before the rock had warmed up to him. In his dreams, The Blazing Fist saw himself in the ring against The Striped Bandit once more, and the starting bell had just rung. This time, the Incineroar was at peak performance, and the match would be that much closer.