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West the Pest. That was what she had always called him.

There wasn't a time Moira could remember when West wasn't on her nerves. From their earliest days as children, raised among the mountainous crags of Mount Cleft, he had stuck to her side like a tick. Always with that stupid little grin, always with the casual nonchalance that drove her stark raving mad. Never seeming to care what was coming, taking life as it came, just soaking it all in like a sponge.

A big, stupid, Charmander shaped sponge named West.

She remembered there was a time they'd gotten lost together, high up in the peaks where they'd been told never to go. They'd gotten into an argument about which path to take. Moira couldn't help but indulge in the memory of dragging West along by the tail on the path she'd chosen, and how she had turned out to be right.

If only he hadn't ruined it for her. Just once, he couldn't just grovel and say he was wrong, or that he was sorry. Just a shrug of his shoulders and a flick of his flaming tail, while saying he was glad they'd gotten back home before dinner.

That jerk.

Then came the day when it was time to leave. With the world going nuts and all those dungeons appearing out of nowhere, it was time to go out in the world and do things. This time, they'd ended up on different paths. They were both Charmeleon back then, hot-blooded and ready to sink their claws into the world.

"I'm gonna miss you, you know," Moira had said. "You're a pest, but I'm going to miss you."

West hadn't said anything just then. Just given her that stupid grin.

"What're you looking at?" Moira had asked.

"You," came West's response. "I'm looking at you."

Moira had remembered the way she'd reached up to tighten her backpack straps before responding. "Yeah? Taking it in so you'll remember me when my team's at the top of the pack?"

"Yeah," he'd said with a snicker. "Something like that."

And then just like that, Moira had kissed him.

It wasn't like it was supposed to be anything special. They'd touched muzzles a few times in the past. It was nothing serious, just the playful experimenting of two young Chameleon and the hormonal awkwardness of that time in life. They'd seen plenty of one another in the meantime, the way kids naturally did in smaller towns. He, peeking down from the branches where she was lounging in the sun. Or her, feeling her cheeks burn to open the door and see him with a magazine, his trousers down, and his claws around his dick.

West's only remark after the fact had been to ask how big he looked. That had earned him a furious swipe of her claws, while she roared at him that she'd found Corsola twigs that put him to shame.

That was the biggest lie she had ever told him, but heaven forbid Moira ever admit that. And all he'd done was just take it, and keep smiling that big, dumb grin of his.

Nothing special. And yet, when she went in to kiss West the Pest, she'd felt something a bit more than just the same old vitriolic distaste. Something more than just a sweet little goodbye between childhood friends.

Maybe he had felt something a bit different too. There was surprise in West's face for once, and he had opened his mouth like he was making to say something. But then he closed it, and ended up saying nothing.

That was the last she'd seen of him for a long time. When she turned back on the path that would lead her to the Square and everything that was to come, she didn't realize just how long a goodbye it really would be.

Then came the year when everything came tumbling down at once.

---

It was one thing to know all those weird dungeons were popping up all over the place. It was another thing to know the world was probably ending because of them.

She had been there that day, when that Xatu shaman had projected the image in their heads of the coming disaster. It took a lot to frighten her, but she had to admit. A comet wiping out life as they knew it? That was frightening.

Moira had become leader back then. Captain of Rescue Team Excellence. Her partner Georgia had been there with her, a coolheaded Grovyle who was the water to her fire. Even Georgia had been uncharacteristically perturbed, and that was the first time Moira had ever seen fear in her face.

There was that one upstart, the Riolu kid that had gotten chased out of town a few months ago, and his long suffering Eevee friend. Those two had taken it upon themselves to get Rayquaza to blow up the meteor, or something. Moira didn't pretend to know all the details, but she did know Excellence had been asked to support them however they could.

Team ACT was the big name in town, and they were taking point on all the support operations. What they said went, and even Moira couldn't counter them without making herself look like an idiot. So when they were told to take up positions with Team Go-Getters, it was as good as an order from the heavens themselves.

Moira couldn't help but snicker a bit at the name as they'd left. Go-Getters? Really? They couldn't think of a better name?

Then she'd actually met Team Go-Getters, and it all made sense.

Moria knew. Somehow, she just knew, before he'd even turned his back. He was a full head taller than her now, with a pair of wings and the toned musculature of a handsome male Charizard. But it was the same smarmy grin, the same casual chill.

"Hey, Moira."

Moira could only gape at what West had become. And for once, she was the one craning her head up to meet his eyes. A latent rage that had been dormant for so many years suddenly came bubbling back up to the surface, and the urge to punch that grin off his face became harder to resist.

Go-Getters. Fucking Go-Getters. It was just like West to come up with something that dumb.

"You evolved," Moira said when she finally found her voice.

"Yep." West simply nodded, still grinning, digging into his pockets to hold up a crumpled 50-Poké bill. "Here."

Moira stared flatly at the bill. "What's this about?"

"I lost the bet," he said, shaking the bill and gesturing for her to take it. "Remember? When we were kids?"

Moira blinked in confusion. "What?"

"I bet you 50 Poké you'd become a Charizard before I did," West said.

"I did?"

"Yeah. And then you beat me up 'cause you thought I was mocking you. But I was wrong, so I'm coughing up."

Sweet heavens. Of all things to remember, he remembered that?

Moira could only glare, before she pushed his hand away. "Keep your money," she grumbled. "I don't want it."

West snorted. "Alright, then." Without waiting to hear her response, he gestured at the male Grovyle behind him. "That's Adam. He's my partner. I guess we're all working together, huh?"

"Yeah," Moira had muttered. "Yeah, I guess we are."

---

Georgia and Adam, if nothing else, got along pretty well.

They went together like Pechas and cream. Both grounded, neither ever caught off guard. The whole mess with the meteor had been resolved nicely, and by the end of it those two were as close friends as two Pokémon could ever be. And it was also Georgia who evolved first, bringing the net number of Sceptile up to two.

Moira, to her chagrin, was the last to evolve, but when the time came, she was all too happy to play it up. She'd taken to the skies on new wings, feeling the world disappear beneath her, flying like it was the most natural thing in the world. And that day, when she spied West on the ground, she'd dived straight for him, down upon her knees with her fist to the ground, just like those cheesy action comics that had gotten so in vogue lately.

"Guess who?" she'd asked.

West had regarded her with a quirked brow before breaking out into a laugh. "Hey," he'd said. "You're looking good."

Looking good? She was a bit more than that! She was bigger than him again! She glared down at the smaller male, exhaling with a puff of flame emerging from her nose.

"That's it?" Moira huffed. "That's all I get?"

"That's all you get," West said, sweeping the ground with his tail. "It's not like you've really changed all that much."

Moira let out a choked sound of offense. "You son of a..." She reached back with her claws clenched in a fist.

"Yep," he said, grinning toothily. "Haven't changed at all. That's the Moira I remember."

There was something so disarming about the way he said it. She could have clocked him there and then, but all desire just dissipated into thin air. It just wasn't fun anymore, and she couldn't figure out why. It was all very confusing, and it made her even more angry.

"So you're totally fine with all this?" West asked, seemingly none the wiser.

Moira narrowed her eyes. "With what?"

"You know. Us merging. I know Georgia's totally cool with it, but-"

"Hey, no." Moira held up a finger for emphasis. "No, no. This was never my idea. I'm playing along because Georgia wants it, and I love her like a sister, alright?"

West the Pest was unflappable. "So that's a yes?"

Rather than dignify him with an answer, Moira growled and changed the subject. "When's the first job?"

"In a week," West said. "Bitterleaf Woods. Nothing serious, just keeping an eye out for trouble. It's more treacherous than most Pokémon think it is, they want us to make sure nobody's going where they shouldn't."

"A week?" Moira grumbled. "That long?"

"Hey, it gives us time to chill. Lie back a little bit. We've been busy, we could use a break."

"Mm."

"You could actually do something fun for once. There's that one festival going on, we could give it a shot."

Moira snorted. "What, us?"

"Catch up and all that. It's not like we've really had a chance to do much of that lately."

"With you? Heaven forbid."

West shrugged. "Suit yourself. You know where I am if you change your mind."

"Yeah, yeah." Moira gestured upwards. "I gotta get going. See you around?"

"Sure."

As Moira spread her wings and took off for the skies, she heard West call up to her.

"We're keeping the name 'Go-Getters'!" he called after her retreating figure. "That's not a problem, is it?"

It was all Moira could do to keep herself from simply flying back down to sock him.

---

Biology could be Moira's worst enemy.

It shouldn't have been. It was only natural. Everyone needed to breed, and they were darn well equipped for it. There wasn't any shame in thinking about it.

Still, it was the curse of being a Pokémon. How that sort of thing came and went in cycles, especially in the spring. The only time a female could bear a fertile egg.

And also the season when things got too big to ignore. The nights when Georgia dispassionately commented that she could smell it from across the room. Easy for a Sceptile to roll her eyes and scoff. At least grass types could take a cold bath and forestall it. It wasn't quite so easy for the fire types that had to make do with hot sand baths and a functioning hand.

There was no shortage of eligible candidates. The season was right, the males were on the prowl, and it wasn't like Moira didn't have her pick of the lot if she ever wanted a mate. And it wasn't like she hadn't given plenty of thought to it before, especially on nights where all the fantasizing and rubbing got her nowhere.

Trouble was, Moira had never wanted a mate. The drive to breed had never outpaced her sapience. She had standards. She wasn't going to have anyone's egg. She was going to wait until she was nice and ready, and that wasn't happening until she'd gotten everything she wanted in life.

Still, like a wrench in a Magneton's limbs, thoughts of West the Pest kept intruding no matter how she shooed them away.

It had been nice to see him back. She hated to admit that she missed his dopey grin and slow, meandering approach to everything life threw their way. These past few months, with Excellence and Go-Getters practically operating as one? It had been a nice change of pace. She wasn't going to deny that their male counterparts didn't know how to dish it out where it counted.

Wherever West had learned to fight, he'd learned really, really well.

Of all times, why now? All the unholy, unwanted thoughts. The urges. The sweatiness. The instinct. The sort of heat that burned hotter than lava, somewhere deep in her belly, that simply refused to let up.

Moira exhaled in a growl and buried her head in the pillows. This wasn't going to be an easy week.

---

Bitterleaf Woods was one of those places that just seemed to be in a perpetual state of darkness.

Not pitch blackness. Moira had seen plenty of that, in places where the darkness felt unnatural and heavy, where her tail flame only went so far. This was the sort of darkness that let just enough light in through the branches above to keep her guessing at shapes. It was almost worse that way.

Still, she had plenty of company, there was another tail flame on top of her own, and the four of them had taken up a bivouac position in one of the little caves within the woods, just inside past the main entrance, ready to intercept any would-be travelers who dared travel too far inside.

It was her turn to take watch. Moira stood just outside the cave, while the others snoozed peacefully inside. Her eyes had long adjusted to the darkness, and she sat in silence, stewing silently.

Damn heat cycle.

A sudden tap on her shoulder sent her jumping as she spun around, ready to strike.

West caught her hand before she could throw the first punch, his muzzle curled upwards in a smile. "Coffee?" he whispered, offering the steaming steel cup in his hand.

Moira scowled. "What're you doing up? Your turn's not for another hour."

"Couldn't sleep," he answered. "Thought I'd keep you company."

Moira snorted and turned away. "What a hero."

West snickered, taking a seat beside her without invitation. "You're welcome."

He was close. Uncomfortably close. Deliciously, tantalizingly, rage-inducingly close. The scent of him clung to his clothes and wafted towards her to where Moira sat, her hips shifting unconsciously as her tail swept upon the ground.

West held out the cup again. Moira shook her head. He took a sip for himself and lay back, an eye in her direction.

"What're you looking at?" Moira asked.

"You," he answered. "I'm looking at you."

Moira remembered this exchange. These exact same words. Everything seemed to converge on her all at once. The time, the pent-up anger, the frustration she'd directed at West the Pest, at herself, at everything.

Something in her broke.

Moira lunged for him.

---

It took a moment for Moira to truly realize what she was doing.

She was atop him, her hands to his shoulders, all but digging her claws into his scaled skin as she pressed her muzzle to his. Moira had never been the affectionate sort, and there wasn't anything tender about all this. It wasn't a kiss, it was a tasting, her tongue within his mouth to wrestle and press against his, feeling the warmth of him around and inside. For several long moments she simply gave in, and heeded the natural, primal call within her.

Awareness overcame instinct just briefly enough for her to see how wide West's eyes had gotten. They grew no smaller even when she pulled back, not bothering to wipe away the shared trail of spit that connected her lips to his and slowly fell across his front.

What had been a slow burn was now an inferno. Waves of harsh arousal swept from between Moira's legs and in her lower belly outwards, to the very tips of her wings. She was something less than a Pokémon now. Something lower, more beastly, more savage.

"Moira?" There was, for once, genuine uncertainty in his voice.

"Save it," she hissed down at him, eyes locked with his. Even later, Moira could never figure out what demon had possessed her to speak the way she did then. "You listen up, and listen good, 'cause I'm only saying this once. We're doing this. Right here, and right now. If it means making an egg together, then so be it. But we are fucking, and we're doing it now. Got it?"

The last words came out in a growl, and she took a primal delight in how he pushed back against the cavern wall out of a brief, genuine intimidation. But any fear quickly subsided, as his cheeky grin quickly reappeared. Before Moira could roar out her displeasure, his hands went to her hips, gently running along the curve of her body and kneading gently.

West's expression was as insolent as ever. But when he spoke, his voice was tender.

"You only ever had to ask."

---

She was, for once, fumbling.

Her hands were a bit shaky as they went up to her buttons, and she snarled in frustration at how they refused to come off quickly enough. It was West's hands, far steadier than her own, that reached up to brush against her fingers before helping release the buttons and open her shirt.

It was a tight black sports bra covering Moira's chest. She all but tore it away and cast it aside to reveal herself to him, seeing his eyes draw down from her eyes. She leaned into him, shivering to feel the toned musculature of him just beneath his own shirt. His hands drew away from her hips to close upon them, his thumbs upon her nipples and brushing in upward strokes as he squeezed. She couldn't suppress a harsh groan of delight, tail thrashing behind her, ending with a sharp snarl as she dug her own claws into his clothes.

She didn't bother with the buttons, merely tore into them, pressing her palms upon his chest to feel the heaving of his muscles, the hard warmth of his skin, the thumping heart beneath.

There was a growing hunger to his movements. West let out a growl of his own as his kneading hands squeezed harder, pulling one hand away to rest it upon Moira's own rear. His breath was hot at her neck, needy and heavy.

He wanted this too. She could feel it, prodding beneath and pushing against the seat of his trousers.

She was drawn down below like a dog to a bone, and her claws clung to his trousers to pull those down as well, to free him, to let him see what was hers.

She could see it. And now, she could smell it too.

The smell of him, just more so. The sweat of a hard day's work, a rich musk that made her head swim. Raw. Natural. Male. It practically hung about him, rising from his towering, tapered pride and the hefty sack beneath.

He'd only gotten bigger since that day she'd walked in on him.

He let out a growl the moment her lips touched him. When Moira took him to her mouth, she hummed around him, the taste of him coating her maw. His length jumped a little as she sunk down to the very base and swallowed, his hips bucking a little into her throat. She held his sack in her hands, cupping it in her palm, fondling gently as she simply took in this moment to swallow and take in his scent.

When Moira at last pulled away, he was panting softly. He was as hard as could be now, throbbing, eyes turning down to his spit-slick cock before locking back to Moira's eyes. The heated, horny need in them made her own heart skip, and she was aware of the sweet, wet warmth between her own thighs.

She couldn't get her own pants down fast enough. West's bleary gaze became sharper, and his grin toothier, as she stepped out of the trousers and peeled her panties down to her ankles. Moira simply kicked them away, but West was quick to snatch them off the ground, and hold them up.

"Can I keep these?"

That earned him a glare. Before she could deny him, he simply tucked them into a pocket, his hands back up to her hips and drawing her back down to straddle him.

Moira shuddered unconsciously when she felt his heavy, hot warmth pressing against her lower belly. She was practically drooling on his groin between her legs, leaving shining streaks of wet, fragrant arousal upon him, rubbing his scent upon herself.

West chuckled. "Gosh, you're pretty."

"Shut up," Moira growled.

He drew in for a kiss, and she kissed him back, even as her hands reached down to feel his warm length in her hands and rub gently, guiding it towards her sex.

Moira felt herself slowly stretching out to accommodate him. She took her time, biting her lip at the new sensation. She held her tongue, trying her best not to let her desperation show, but the thought of him - of West - being inside her brought out a needy moan past her lips. West answered with a harsh growl of his own, his hands insistent on pushing her further down, down to the very hilt until she was impaled upon him.

It hurt. As wet and as ready as she was, Moira could just barely take him without breaking. His heat practically radiated into her, her eyes squeezed shut as they began to water from the strain.

It hurt so bad. And she loved it.

The feeling was surely mutual. West was shifting beneath her, exhaling in harsh grunts and growls. "Moira..." he said through gritted teeth. "You feel amazing..."

Moira answered not with words, but with a hard downward thrust of her hips. The sharp pain was dissipating, replaced with the straining, dull ache like an overworked muscle. A soreness to underline the electrifying jolts of pleasure that washed through her and spurred her onwards.

She tossed ceremony aside and rode him like an animal. Wet slaps filled the air around them as her hips sank down again, and again, and again. It was a wordless exchange of power and need, using her wings to help propel herself up and down, sinking him down into her deepest depths, letting his tip kiss the very end of her, spearing herself upon him.

She felt her pleasure rise and fall like cresting waves crashing upon her. A low humming buzz down below would slowly rise into overwhelming swirls of emotion and rapture. Moira couldn't get enough, and she would press into him whenever she came all the harder for it, greedy for more.

But she wasn't content to simply ride him. Moira wanted more from him than just climaxes. With every downward stroke she flexed around him as hard as she could, clenching her muscles, making him feel the texture of her as it squeezed and massaged his length. She milked him, pleasured him, offered herself to coax him closer and closer to the end.

"Moira..." West's breath was growing faster now, his bucking hips more frantic.

"It's OK," Moira murmured. She almost didn't recognize her own voice for how sultrily she spoke. "It's OK," she repeated. "I want this. Just let it out and fill me up."

As if to reassure him, she rested a hand on his chest and gently held his cheek with the other. West was losing the fight to hold back. Moira made sure he gave in.

At long last, West let out a shout. He stiffened below her, and his claws dug sharply into her hips. She felt herself bleed. She felt his length kick and throb inside her, and the sudden rush of warmth inside her belly, and she knew she'd gotten what she needed.

---

This was perfect.

Moira could stay like this forever, pressed against him, slowly feeling him go soft inside her. She didn't pull free, not yet. She didn't dare. She wanted him inside her as long as she could have him, all the better to let him quicken in her fertile, waiting womb.

His breath was hot against her neck, coming out in harsh pants just out of time with her own. She rested her head against his, eyes closed, simply taking in the closeness and warmth of her friend.

No, not just her friend. Her mate, the father to her children, and her love.

West the Pest. The thought surprised her more than it should have.

He stirred beneath her. His muzzle met hers for a kiss, and she returned it.

Slowly, they rolled onto their sides, facing one another. His hands ran along her, and hers ran along him. They pressed tightly together, belly to belly and chest to chest, the thump of their hearts pounding against one another as they indulged in the warmth of this shared, sacred moment.

Moira shifted in place, letting him slip free of her at last. She felt him leak out of her, but as she nestled against him with her back to his belly, she felt his claws reach down to fondle her, running along the messy trails of seed trickling down her thigh, pushing them back inside her as his claws massaged it into her walls.

"You shouldn't waste it," he murmured in her ear.

"Since when were you the breeding type?" she asked.

West snickered. "Since now, I guess." He pulled his hand away, resting it against her belly to hold her close. "Feel better now?"

Moira's lips tightened, but she let out a sigh. "Yeah," she admitted. "I really needed that."

"Really?" West teased. "I'd have never guessed."

"Don't get used to the gooey sweetness, you pest. I can still clock you."

"Sure you can."

Moira grumbled, but she relaxed in place, and simply took in the warm strength of his presence. For all the haranguing she'd directed at him? All the punches and scratches? He was a good friend. He would be an even better mate.

Still, a question lingered at the edge of her mind, and she finally gave voice to it. "Hey, West?"

He stirred against her. "Mm?"

"That day. When we were leaving home. Remember?"

"Yeah?"

"You were gonna say something before I turned around, weren't you?"

A moment's silence. "Yeah," he said. "I was."

"What were you gonna say?"

West's claws closed tighter around her hand for a squeeze. "I was gonna ask if you wanted to come with me."