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If I Could Bake It Into Words

Part 2

By Coldstone

Everything was going wrong.

Even with the early hours of the day, the sun didn't relent with its harsh glare from the sky. The heat had yet to build up in the pavement, leaving only warm firmness beneath his soles, but his dark fur greedily soaked up the rays shining upon him.

Adding insult to baking, he also felt naked. To anyone passing by, they should only see a zoroark in some cargo shorts, a shirt piece with a sun visor, but it all came from an illusion. Only the neck pouch for his phone and wallet hidden beneath was actually real. Few would look askance at a pokemon walking around in the buff, but Pan's habit of dressing up for his job and comfort made the thought of trudging along with all his clothes to clean and not a stitch on his body feel doubly embarrassing.

The two laundry satchels slung over his shoulders added to his burden, making it extremely ungainly to run while making even a fast walk into a merciless march; the consequences of his neglect had caught up in full, and his marvelous plans for winning Emily's heart were on the verge of destruction.

Maybe.

Pan shifted the satchels again and tried to push a little more speed out of his legs, eyes focusing on the laundromat up ahead. As pessimistic as his thoughts were, the calmer, more logical part behind them knew they were just being dramatic. His hopes weren't doomed, and while he might be late to work, it wouldn't ruin everything. His nudity wouldn't get him randomly arrested or chased out of town any more than that blitzle trotting along on the other side of the street with his friends, tail perkily raised and jewels visible for all to see. Better to have the lurch in his plans happen now, for something as minor as a little forgotten laundry than in the middle of actual plans for impressing the subject of his affection.

A little more determination sped up his steps; he could overcome this!

The doors of the laundromat came into view, the welcoming shadows of the building's silhouette shading him from the sun as he took those last few grateful steps up to the glass. Adjusting his grip on the satchels to free up a hand, he grabbed the door handle and pulled.

The glass wobbled. Nothing. Another pull. More wobbling, no yielding. A white sign swayed behind the glass.

CLOSED FOR RENOVATION. Est Completion: XX/XX/XXXX

“Oh, come on!"

He tried the door one more time; the renovation sign shook and tilted precariously, but it did not relent, nor block the view of half the room clearly moved around for work. It was completely deserted, of course, despite a good half the room still arguably usable.

A fleeting thought of breaking in to use the machines still plugged in came to mind, but there was no reason to risk getting arrested for breaking and entering just to wash some clothes; that'd be far worse than having to call in because he forgot laundry. He slung his bags off his shoulders and slumped against the nearby wall. Fishing his phone out from his neck pouch, he tried to think of the best way to apologize as he tapped in Emily's number with the pen. He didn't get very long to think before someone picked up on the other side.

<“Hello?">

Pan's heart fluttered a little at the sound of her voice, though the dread built up at the imminent doom. “Hey. It's Pan."

<"Hey! Morning to you! What's up? Is something wrong?">

“Kind of. As stupid as it feels to say this, I... kinda forgot to do my laundry. I have nothing to wear for work." He'd managed to rip off the metaphorical band-aid, at least.

<"Oh. Shit. Yeah that's kinda bad."> The tone of what he hoped was concern came through loud and clear, but with it came a sense of determination. <"You can't just wash a uniform and be late? You live at Atlas Apartments, don't you? Don't they have washers there?">

“Bizarre as it may sound, It decided to die without so much as a fight, which is saying something when most pokémon don't wear that much to begin with." That discovery had been part of what had led him marching all the way out to the public laundromat in the first place. “I tried the local one after that, but I had to walk, and apparently they're closed for renovations."

“Do you have any neighbors that will let you borrow their washer?"

“I can head back and try, but I don't know that many of them and if no one is home or willing..."

That'd net them a few hours, at best, in semi damp clothes, still leaving Emily more or less on her own or having to call Tobias to help out. Neither of them wanted to really test his health in prolonged heat, and he would already be fuming at Pan for screwing up as it was. Then again, not showing up at all would potentially do all the same.

“Sorry, I'm being stupid. Even if I'm that late it's better than not showing up at all. I'll update you on—"

<"You got everything you need to wash with you, right?">

Pan blinked. “Uh, yeah. Two satchels worth. One's work clothes."

<"Bring them with you and come here.">

“I can't just wear a wrinkled, smelly uniform, Emily. Even if I disguise it that's probably gonna stink and it's not—"

<"Less fussing, more walking! Don't worry, I have a plan."> Emily's voice echoed with amusement. <"Trust me.">

Pan didn't know what to say. Where his mind and heart had fretted and moaned over failure and disappointment, somehow he found them now slipping into celebration. She had asked him to trust her.

“Okay. I'll be there as soon as I can."

Maybe he could salvage something from this after all...

---

Pan felt naked. Again.

Granted, beneath the illusion of Lyle he wore nothing except his hair nets and a single, spare apron, so compared to his usual outfit, he was very, very much naked. Compared to earlier, however, It was a decent upgrade! The feeling just felt much more pronounced with him as the only one left running the store, trying not to let his mind extrapolate scenarios where it all suddenly fell apart or he was flashing his pokeballs at some poor kid that just wanted a snowman cookie.

As for how he had ended up in this predicament...

“Okay, so this one is the work stuff? What about what you're wearing now?" Emily looked down at his illusory outfit. “They don't look wrinkled."

Pan looked down in surprise. He didn't want to admit they weren't real and that he wasn't wearing anything in front of her; he had no idea how she'd react to that, even if most pokemon customers showed up that way. “Uh, no, this is clean enough at least."

“Great! Then take this and dress up." she held out an apron, a big smile on her face. “I won't mention to anyone, and since you'll be disguised anyways no one has to know. I'll take these home and run them through the wash, and you'll have everything you need."

“W-Wait! What about the store? You're just going to have me run it by myself?"

Emily snorted. “Don't be silly. I'll come back after I get it running. then head over again in a couple hours to hang and dry them. It's less of a pain than not having you around to suffer the heat with me, or The Mooch."

Pan stared at her with a sense of awe, a growing tightness in his chest. As the feeling grew, he gestured toward her hand. “Hand. Give me your hand real quick."

Confused, she held it out. He seized it and fell to one knee, kissing the top of it several times over. “Thank you. Thank you thank you thank you. Oh harken comes this day where the Goddess that is Emily Oarmin doth shined frometh the Heavens—"

She'd then laughed in surprise, yanked her hand away, and told him to hurry up and get changed. Feelings of affection notwithstanding, she had really saved the day. Naked or not, he intended to do his best to live up to that mercy. It might even become a nostalgic moment to reminisce over one day in the future.

Maybe. He was still debating if he'd ever reveal the naked part to a soul, Emily or not.

He stood in the break room with a fresh tray of brownies to glaze and the fan set low at his feet, trying not to focus on the draft making his apron flutter as it kept the rest of him cool. The low setting kept the actual risk of fur flying around to a minimum and made hearing anyone coming into the store much easier.

Jingle jingle

Speaking of which...

Setting the piping bag down, he made his way to the front of the store. The door had just finished easing shut, and peering along the pastries in the display stood a salazzle. As usual for a pokemon, she wore nothing in the way of clothing, but she did have a motorcycle helmet secured under one arm and a shoulder bag hanging across her form. Her eyes immediately turned up to him as he came into view, and her scaled lips curved up into a smile. “Oh good, you are here. I was worried for a minute."

“What for?"

She pointed up towards one of the air vents before she made a small, circling gesture with her long, clawed digit. “Your AC is out, the front was empty and the door unlocked. It's quite pleasant for me, but I imagine it makes baking less so for someone not built for it. Thought you might have left the front door unlocked by accident."

A reasonable observation to make, all things considered. “We're a little short staffed at the moment, but I can hear the front door from the back. We're managing for now at least." He gestured towards the display between them. “So if you're interested in some choices while they're not dried out, now's a great time."

Salazzle's smile rose a little more with that. “As it happens, I'm here to pick up a special order," she unzipped her bag and pulled out a small list. “It's for Jack McConnelly from Plaisir."

“A special order?" He didn't remember any such order!

But she gave him a nod, turning the list around to show him the notes. “He made it yesterday over the phone with the owner, I believe. He asked me if I would pick it up on my way to work."

Pan immediately felt his fur stand up a little; he was familiar enough with Salazzle to know they were fire types—hence not being bothered by the heat—but he was also aware of their reputation of flirtation with any male that had a pulse. Suddenly, the curvy, appealing figure of a female looked a lot more capable of pouncing like a devouring, sexy beast. Did he just miss that look of seductiveness in her eyes, or had she donned it when mentioning who the order was for? The fact Jack asked her to pick it up on her way to work...

But what she did at the cafe shouldn't be a deterrent to a paying customer. “Let me double check in the back, but I don't remember anything set aside. It's been a hectic past few days."

Salazzle nodded in understanding. “This just happened? I can definitely see that messing up orders. I'll check what you have up front here in case it isn't. Thank you."

A quick check around showed no packaged up pastries, but Pan did find a note of the order sticking to the corkboard where they kept important numbers and details. It looked like they would have actually been throwing everything together if he hadn't had his laundry emergency; in other words, yet another thing going wrong because of him.

“Fuck..."

He came back out with his copy of the list in hand wearing a grimace. “Good news is I found the order for it. Sorry about that. We would have had it put together today, but..."

“You were short staffed," Salazzle finished for him, not seeming put out at all. “Worry not, it happens. It looks like you have just about everything in the order on display. Is it possible to put it together now?"

“Of course."

“In that case, I'd like to add another powdered jelly doughnut and an eclair, please, and I'll have them first." Her tongue slipped out an inch and flickered with a faint wisp of noise. “I can enjoy them while I wait."

He rang up the order and gave her the pair first before hurrying to shape and fill the boxes with the rest. Salazzle, meanwhile, took her own and sat down at one of the tables nearby. She demonstrated grace and elegance with her movements, from draping herself across the simple, metal chair to the way she draped one arm over the back while crossing one leg over the other, elongated toes idly strimming through air. She looked perfectly comfortable with herself, without a care for who might be watching her or imagining what unspeakable things she did in her spare time.

As for what she did with the doughnuts, Pan tried his best to focus on getting the order together, but in between moments he spotted her licking the powdered sugar off the jelly filled one before possibly worming her tongue into the point the jelly was injected and...

Well, he tried not to look when she reached for the eclair next. Ravishing did come closer to covering what he'd seen.

“Alright, one special order for Jack, done."

Finally looking at her once again, Pan found Salazzle neatly grooming her fingers clean with her tongue, a faint wisp of flame and the slightest hint of scorched sugar hinting at the burning away of stickiness. Rising from her chair and returning to the counter, she briefly peeked into each box to confirm their contents before giving a satisfied nod. “My thanks. I hope your AC situation gets resolved soon."

“So do we." He gave a hopeful sigh.

Salazzle gave him what seemed like an inquisitive look. “I take it you don't expect it to be resolved soon at all?"

“Not really. The whole unit needs replacing. It's not just a repair."

Salazzle gave a grimace of her own. “But it could be far worse, no? You at least have those inventive little sweets you've been recently selling? Or are they not to your liking?"

Pan stared at her for a moment before he realized what she was suggesting. He immediately dropped his face into a hand at his own stupidity. “I completely forgot that was an option."

Salazzle clucked her tongue in amusement, the zipper of her shoulder bag sounding a moment before something settled onto the counter. He looked up from his hand to see a card and a small, opaque bottle next to each other being pushed his way. “Perhaps you need to ask for a day off soon, Lyle." Her knowing his name wasn't surprising; he wore a nametag after all. “It does not have to be for anything outrageous, but I'm sure we could find an ice type that would be happy to simply lay across your lap and provide some cool comfort." She gave him a wink. “At Cafe Plaisir we indulge many things, not just the depraved."

Hesitantly, Pan picked up the card. Unsurprisingly, it had the Cafe Plaisir credentials on it, along with the name of the salazzle in front of him: Kindle the Firestarter. “Not that I'm going to complain about the show of kindness and concern, but wouldn't this just mean I'd be the odd man out sitting there petting some Glaceon or the like while everyone around me is being tempted by broadly implied debauchery?"

Kindle gave him a very implying grin, complete with a tongue flicker of obvious playfulness. “Only if you go beyond the main bar, I would think. The first drink is on me if that provides sufficient temptation for you."

“I think this is the first time I've been flirted with without a single use of a terrible pastry pun."

“I prefer seduction over solicitation. That, and it would be incredibly rude of me to distract you in the middle of your job when we've just met. With bread puns no less."

He had to admit, he was feeling a lot less... annoyed, than he usually did about such actions. Possibly not even annoyed, but in the back of his mind, his resolve was bolstered by the image of Emily. She'd be back soon, and he didn't want to be caught in the middle of a conversation with a would-be prostitute. He tried changing the subject to the mystery bottle she had pulled out with the card. “What about this?"

“Ah, that's for the Zoroark that works here. He still does, yes?" Kindle gave it a tiny nudge closer. “He is probably faring worse than you with this heat, and Jack mentioned one who worked here. No reason not to offer him the same respite."

So it was two separate invitations; she didn't know they were one in the same. “Right. I'll be sure to give it to him."

She held up a claw as he slipped the bottle into his apron pocket. “I suggest you give it to him after work. No sense stirring up his curiosity in the middle of a work shift."

“Right. I'll keep that in mind. Have a nice day."

“And to you. Hang in there."

And with that, she left, doughnuts neatly tucked into a basket on a wicked-looking moped.

Pan returned to the break room with the now-cooled brownies, fishing the bottle out of his pocket to ponder over. Being opaque, he had no way to see inside, but at the same time it felt empty. A test shake gave faint sounds of something moving around though: another business card, perhaps? “Why would you stick one into a bottle when you could just hand it out directly?"

He twisted the top open right there and peered inside at the as-predicted calling card. A wispy trail of fog seeped out around the lip of the bottle. His nose, being the closest point, sucked up a few tendrils of that fog as he inhaled.

Burning, stinging, acrid! He jerked away and coughed as the heated reaction swam through his head and lungs, crashing into one of the counters. The careful illusion of Lyle fell apart in an instant, leaving Pan panting and dizzy.

The room had been warm, but bearable just a moment ago. Now everything felt three, no, four times hotter. For a moment he thought he was going to suddenly burst into flame when all the heat seemed to abruptly sink down into his stomach, diving down into his crotch.

He realized the truth as he yanked his apron to the side and found his shaft bulging obscenely in its sheath, the red, raging tip jutting out into the air and already pulsing threateningly with a dribble of excitement.

Salazzle pheromones! He'd forgotten how salazzle seduced the very males they sought after. No wonder she had warned him not to open the bottle until after work! Not that this realization was helping him deal with the next surge of arousal strumming along every erogenous nerve of his insides...

The bottle dropped to the floor and rolled with the wind of the fan. He turned and grabbed onto the counter before he could drop the floor himself. His loosened apron dangled and obscured the red rocket from his view, only to be rudely brushed aside when his hips thrusted forward of their own accord. Like a demented game of peekaboo, the movement jutted past the cloth and at the cabinet side, sometimes painting the wood with a streak of excitement.

Oh, how he wanted to press up against the side, where the smooth, cool surface would soothe that burning heat, that need! It might even give him enough attention that with just a few more thrusts, he could let loose, get that fire out of his insides! If he could just...

NO!

The last thrust just barely touched the side, dribbling, earnest member deprived just in time. Somehow he managed to push down the pheromone demon churning within.

Give me release. His loins growled, wobbling menacingly. The bulge of his knot was trapped in his sheath, but it made the rest of him perfectly poised to point at him accusingly.

He ignored it, slowly pulling his hips away from the counter and causing his shaft to fall behind the apron again.

Set me free! Even concealed, the telltale bulge was obvious. Give us Rapture!

Slow, deep breaths. In and out, he slowly, determinedly, rebuilt the wall of restraint, his eyes screwed shut as he tried to channel calm, peaceful thoughts.

The temptation glowered, but slowly receded. In being deprived, it no longer had anything to say. Each pulse of lust took longer, though he still dripped onto floor and apron, and the feel of the fan blowing the breeze along him became frigidly blissful...

Then his next breath brought in a hauntingly familiar scent; Burning. Stinging. Acrid! He gagged, eyes bulging as he fell against the countertop again. Claws found little to grab onto this time, the piping bag at the side falling victim to his grip as glaze spurted obscenely across the brownies, the counter, the wall, even himself as he found one eye forced shut by the sudden deluge.

A familiar bottle caught his eye on the floor, and with it, a moment of clarity: Whatever pheromones had been left in the bottle had drifted out, and were now riding the wind like an erratic time bomb!

The little red monster below found new life with this opportunity. Even as he tried to keep himself upright, he rammed his hips into the side of the counter, humping up against the wood. Reinvigorated by the stray pheromones, it was Pan's turn to be held in check by the roaring libido.

Do it! The Red Spire demanded, peeking past the edge of the countertop. His hips lunged forward again, sending it higher, looming imperiously. Give in!

Pan could almost cry. So close! He was so, so close...

Yet somehow, he held back. If he could just keep at it a little longer, not breathe in another whiff of that burning scent, with its stinging allure, or its acrid bite...

Too late. “Fffffffffuck!"

An alarming crack came from the counter as he rammed up against it. The fire in his groin rushed forth with triumphant glee, member jerking chaotically as streamers of milky white danced in front of his watery vision. Those poor, neglected brownies received yet another glazing, along with the tray, the countertop, his chin, and more. His hips had no choice but to flex and push forward, held back only by the fact he was already so flushed against it and didn't actually have the power to demolish it all with his glutes alone. With each pulse came another streamer of seed, with each throb of orgasm a mixture of euphoria and chagrin, with each sticky plap of fluid on some sort of surface, a sense of wonder and embarrassment.

Three heavy, panting breaths were all it took to realize it was finally over. Several heaving, empty throbs to emphasize he was spent. One heavy, heady glob of spunk drooling down his nose to suddenly invade his nostril to register just how much of a mess this one corner of the break room now displayed.

Pan wobbled backwards a few steps, narrowly avoiding the fan as he took it all in. When he had destroyed the piping bag, an alarming wave of glaze had splattered across the cabinets above and the wall between. It was almost worse because the glaze, thick as it was, did not want to splatter so readily, leaving many globs looking ready to fall at any moment.. His right hand was an absolute mess, not to mention the part of the stream that had actually spurted onto him, blinding his one eye still. There were scratch marks on the countertop and the wood that he didn't remember making, and the actual countertop itself looked slightly higher than the rest; that crunching noise from earlier must have been him somehow separating it from the wood frame itself.

Then there were the poor, poor brownies. One part of the tray overflowed with glaze, absolutely smothering a corner, with a few stripes flung along the rest. What truly made Pan's heart stop was the other glaze apparent in the mess; where the first fluid had spurted and splattered with sticky resistance, his own had made a much more appreciatively splotchy effect where it had sailed up to hit the cabinets and wall. A steady drip of it pooled on the floor where he had been humping into the frame, and not even mentioning the absolute mess of it that had gotten onto himself during it all. It was absolutely all over the brownies, adding a spotty, lacey, chaotic message of indiscreet glory.

“Sweet, Fucking Arceus..."

He was so totally fired if he didn't clean this up before someone else showed up!

“Fuck, fuck fuck fuuuuck!" With a new surge of energy, he shoved himself into the bathroom and stripped down, sink faucet running at full blast as he scrubbed, brushed, pulled and soaked as much of himself as he could physically shove into the diminutive basin. The mess on his face came first so he had full use of both eyes, but as he blinked through the damp improvement and into the small mirror he wanted to cringe; he looked so much worse than he thought.

At least he couldn't see the half a boner still sticking out from his sheath in the reflection. A liberal amount of cold water and adjusting helped make that less incriminating.

Eventually there wasn't much else he could do with just water. He looked like a half drowned fox, but that was a lot better than cumstained one. He was probably going to have to wash up again with all the hassle cleaning the rest of the mess would take, but If he could at least clean up the more questionable stains, he might be able to say that...

What the hell would he say? He just had to pray that Emily took longer to get back than she thought and it didn't come up at all. Or that no one had come in expecting service while he was—

“Shit!" The storefront! How long had he been in here!? Did anyone come in and hear him trying to impregnate the counter? Was the register still even there? He wrenched open the door to rush to the front to check. So long as no one actually came in, he could turn off the open sign and lock the door before—

“Woah!" Emily jumped back in alarm at his sudden appearance, then her eyes widened before turning away. “WOAH!"

Pan let out his own bark of surprise and doubled back, nearly falling onto his ass as he scrambled behind the door, not quite shutting it as he peeked through. “When did you get back!?"

She saw everything. The mess, me. Oh fuck...

“Just now!" Emily had a hand on her chest, still recovering from the jump scare. “What happened here? Was it a customer? Are you okay?"

“No! It wasn't a customer, and—Look, it's hard to explain. Can you check and see if the front is okay? I need a minute to... get dressed."

“Sure... I'll flip the sign if no one's coming and be right back." She took one last look at the incriminating scene before she hurried out of the break room, leaving Pan to slowly freak out as he tried to think of an explanation.

Still, he also needed to get dressed, since he supposedly wasn't naked when he came to work. His brain somehow managed to remind him to alter the illusion to make his clothes look wet from water splatter, complete with what he hoped looked more like glaze stains than something else. It took him three tries just to get the clothes to appear, and from the sound of rolling wheels he could hear outside the door, he knew that Emily was already back, complete with mop and rolling bucket. That meant at the very least, no one had shown up while he was in the middle of his fiasco, or at least they hadn't stolen anything when they were.

One problem down...

Taking a deep breath, Pan slowly opened the bathroom door and stepped out. He was just wearing his street clothes for now—the incriminating apron and stockings were still on the floor. He slid it shut behind him as he faced Emily. “So..."

“So." she responded back, clearly waiting for an explanation. Her eyes seemed to bore into his, intensifying steadily as he found himself unable to form words and the silence dragged on for, well, only a few seconds, actually. “This isn't exactly hard, Pan. Spit it out."

He winced. He was so, so fired. “I..."

“Slipped."

He blinked.

Emily rolled her eyes and smiled. “Geez, Pan. take a breath! You slipped, got glaze all over the place, and guessing from the birthday suit a moment ago, got it all over yourself too." Her explanation came out with dead-certain confidence. “But seriously: Are. You. Okay? Did you hurt yourself?"

She didn't know. Pan was certain she fully believed all of that was just glaze, and nothing else. The heavy, leadened feeling of doom in his stomach trembled and writhed. He found himself shaking, this close to breaking out into hysterical laughter. He seized his muzzle, using the other hand to cover his face as he disguised his trembling jaw into what might look like an embarrassed face palm. “J-Just my pride, I-I think. Oh Arceus..."

And that seemed to be exactly what she wanted. With a small shake of her head, Emily strode over and suddenly embraced him, surprising him further. “You are not having a good day today, are you?"

He was now doubly glad he had illusioned on some clothes, and that he had used so much cold water in trying to clean himself. “C-could be worse," he managed to mutter with a straight voice, “I could have popped out like that for your father, with the till stolen and an oven spewing fire."

That got him a snort. “Yeah, that would definitely be worse." Emily's embrace loosened as she stepped back, looking him over. “Well, there's not much point in crying over spilled glaze now. I'm still presentable, and your stuff is washing back home. It makes more sense that you clean this up than me for now while I mind the store, then you can see if you can salvage your stuff for the later half. Sound fair?"

As that minimized any chance of her figuring out what had actually happened, Pan nodded immediately. “Completely fair. I don't think the apron survived the fiasco though."

“I bet it's been through worse somehow. Just take it home with you and wash it on your next laundry day. No sense jinxing that bit about the ovens. We'll stick with what we already have."

Also fair, and helpful. Rather than risk the conversation somehow flipping itself on its head, he took up the mop and bucket and filled it at the cleaning station near the back. This would have actually been helpful in washing himself off, what with the floor drain and the rubber hose attached to the spigot, but he would have been completely exposed for Emily to have walked in on if he had.

Small blessings I suppose. I can't believe I might get through this in one piece.

He grabbed every cleaning product he could possibly need into his arms, even shoving a few into his mane; he needed to get back as soon as possible to clean and insist he be the one to do all of it. Every possible chance at discovery had to be purged. The bottle was probably still on the floor somewhere, and even if cum and glaze looked similar, a human might somehow smell the difference. Or if Emily would use the bathroom and see the stains on the apron and wonder...

One step at a time, Pan. One step at a time.

As he entered the break room again, his heart skipped a beat as he looked over to the counter: Emily was standing just beside the mess, knife in one hand, and a sizable brownie chunk in the other. She had clearly just taken a bite of it, from the way it moved away from her mouth as she turned to look at his arrival. On the try itself, pan identified the spot she had cut from: The worst splash zone from the second glazing.

He willed his mouth to stay shut, even as his eyes widened. He could already see the funny look she was giving him, before something else suddenly made her look back to the brownie and frown.

“Mmph. Maybe it was good luck you slipped." Emily smacked her lips experimentally as she finished chewing the bit of brownie and swallowed. “I think the heat might have gotten to the glaze somehow. Tastes a little funny." With a look of regret, she put it back onto the tray and stuck her tongue out a bit, obviously wanting to do something about the taste on her tongue. “I think I'm going to grab a chocolate milk from the fridge."

“R-right." he managed to squeak out, stepping aside so she could get through the doorway. “L-Leave all this to me."

Emily gave him a big, encouraging smile as she stepped out of view. Pan managed to catch the edge of the counter before his legs tried to give out on him.

---

Pan's march home was fast and rugged; the faster he went, the less likely something else would happen to him. Since they had shut down a bit earlier than intended (in part thanks to his so-called accident), he had to deal with a blistering sun overhead trying to bake him. This time he'd spared no expense in illusioning himself an umbrella to serve as a shield, but he couldn't make it as big as he had wanted: an umbrella in the middle of the day without rain was weird enough, even for shade, but he didn't want to take any other chances of anyone discovering his clothes were just as transient.

The moment he got through the front door and slammed it shut, however, the cleaned clothes and uniforms were thrown across a chair, his empty satchels dumped on the floor, and his fur freed of their illusory confines as he face planted into his couch.

Sweet. Fucking. Arceus. What a day. “To whichever god or pokemon I offended, I'm sorry," he mumbled into the cushion. “I swear I'll make it up to you."

No response came, though honestly he didn't expect one. He let the stress seep out, slowly stretched and pulled the one couch pillow closer to snuggle onto as he slowly turned over and contemplated everything that had happened. For all it had definitely been 'a bad day' certain parts had definitely gone his way. He'd been the one to screw up, not heeding Kindle's warning about the bottle (currently stashed, double wrapped in plastic just in case, in his mane). Forgetting about laundry day had been small beans in comparison to nearly getting caught busting a nut all over some brownies, and afterwards...

If he'd told Emily what had actually happened, she might not have eaten the brownie, but in either case, she could have realistically called the cops on him or thrown him out. Either option was bad.

In contrast, Emily had offered him help in his hour of need to wash his stuff. She clearly cared enough to help him. Seeing him fully naked hadn't spooked her, which was promising, though maybe she just hadn't 'seen' anything because a naked pokemon was very different from a naked man.

Should he give up his pursuit? Was he treading a path to his own destruction, by accident or otherwise? The long huff of frustration suggested he persevere, but the fluttering chaos in his gut betrayed his cowardice.

Maybe he just cared too much?

With nowhere to go but circles in his head, he picked himself up off the couch and went to put away his clothes, tossing the pillow back into place. Emily had given him his uniforms back on good hangers, so he needed to make sure to return those tomorrow, but the rest of his clothes had simply been folded as best as they could be, which was understandable; the shirt pieces were closer to a tie or bandana in dimension, not really suited to a hanger, and he imagined she had as much trouble as he did in finding a pants hanger that actually seemed to work on any sort of pants.

Then it came down to the undergarments and other things. He felt a rush of blood to his cheeks, embarrassment concealed except for his grimace and his ears tilting back. He'd been clearly desperate, but she'd basically be forced to deal with his jockstraps too. There weren't that many, and he didn't usually wear them more than once in this sort of weather anyways, but he didn't think that...

Hm?

An unfamiliar flash of pink caught his attention. Carefully plucked between his claws, he pulled it free to find a pair of adorable—yet practical—woman's underwear in his possession.

The blood began to quicken and gather, and not just at his cheeks. How was he supposed to respond to this!? Was there more? The miniscule pile of straps went flying everywhere as he checked for any other unfamiliar items. Loose socks? No. A bra? Definitely not. A shirt easily missed because the damn thing compacted way too well? No. Just one pair of panties, freshly laundered, mild floral scent.

He wasn't actually sniffing them like some deviant—it was all over his own clothing too. Come to think of it, how many of his jockstraps had actually been in here? Was one missing? Was this some sort of trade of scents, secretly showing her interest? Did humans even do that? He knew well enough that getting caught sniffing someone's underwear would pretty much get you branded a pervert in some way, but at the same time, there was a twisted sense about having someone's personal scent and being able to actually inhale it when you're close...

Should he?

His mind went back to earlier, when Emily had hugged him to comfort him over what had happened. He'd gotten to appreciate her scent then too, even if it hadn't been his focus at the time...

Slowly, the pink drifted closer as his eyes drifted shut.

The mad chitter of a ringtone against his chest pulled a yelp from his throat as he stumbled back, then another yelp as he tripped over a chair and hit the floor with a breath-stealing thump. Adding insult to injury, his neck pouchsmacked him squarely in the nose, encouraging yet one more sound out of him as he grabbed at it.

“FUCK!"

Pain throbbing at all ends, he slowly pulled himself off the floor, his phone ringing onwards for a few more seconds until it either went to voicemail or the caller gave up. A careful prod at various parts confirmed himself and his nose mostly unharmed and his chair unbroken. A brief moment of panic ended as quick as it came when he found the misplaced underwear now on the couch, but, with this fresh surprise on his mind, made him hesitate to pick them back up.

“This is ridiculous..."

He would return them with the hangers. Clearly, she had done her wash at the same time, and that made perfect sense. They could just have easily been left in the dryer by accident, and got added to his unknowingly. She knew a few things about pokemon, but as far as Pan knew she wasn't that well versed to pull a play like that.

Probably.

Maybe it wouldn't be a bad idea to visit the cafe sometime soon and see if he could learn to loosen up a bit and find someone interesting to get to know? Probably not among the actual 'waiters', but surely not every female in the county knew cooking puns?

His phone let out a chime, informing him of a voice mail. It was the perfect distraction for the moment, and so he pulled his phone out and checked the ID: Emily. It wasn't very long, so most likely it was just her making sure he made it home, and probably to tell him something from Tobias—probably be more careful next time, he can't afford to pay workmans comp if he was gonna slip on everything.

Or apologizing for leaving her panties in his laundry. That'd at least give him a valid safety net when returning them. He hit play.

<"Hey, Pan! I figured you get home alright, but no harm in making sure. Dad says be more careful about slipping, but he's glad you had the sense not to fall into the display case and get cut up.">

Pan smirked at that. A fitting Tobias comment, and one he agreed with too. If he had opened the bottle in the front of the store, things would have been infinitely worse. “Smart call, Tobias."

He heard her moving a bit as the message continued. <"Also, since you had such a rough day, I was wondering if you wanted to go to the movie theater later this week? I'm not sure what you'd want to see, but there's several new ones right now, so got some wiggle room. Bye!">

Several seconds went by as Pan stared at his phone. He hit the play button again, adjusting the timer to skip up to the invitation as he listened to it again, once more, another time.

She'd asked him out on a date?

With a sudden surge of energy, he grabbed up all his uniforms and went to put them into the closet. Another trip grabbed up his shirts, pants, and one more had him rushing around the room to pick up all the flung jockstraps.

And one pair of pink, adorable—yet practical—women's underwear.

---

If Pan still had a tail, he imagined it'd be wagging as he spotted Emily walking up to him from the parking lot. He rarely saw her in anything but the work uniform, So seeing her in casual dress with a skirt and heels but also nice enough to actually add to the idea of a date made a pleasant addition to his mood. “Glad you made it before the rain started."

Emily gave him a wide smile as she adjusted her purse and looked up at the sky to assess the weather mentioned; the clouds loomed and glowered, clearly intent on ruining someone's day, just not having decided who yet. “Thanks! I'm glad we opted for the early. You've had enough of a rough week. I wouldn't want you getting soaked just because of my invitation.

“If we had, I imagine one of us would have had the idea to pick me up or reschedule." he turned and made his way to the theater lobby, pulling the door open for her.

Within, the sweet, dry air of the AC caressed them in invitation. Humans and pokemon alike strolled about, picking out popcorn and candy while also peering at the various movie displays situated around the space. Off to one side Pan spotted the arcade, an aspect he had forgotten about from the last time he had gone to the movies. Several of the old classics from retro, to gunners, air hockey...

Now that he thought about it, it'd been quite awhile since his last movie.

“So did you have a particular movie in mind you were thinking of starting with?" Emily asked, “Did you have anything to eat before you came over?"

“I didn't have a movie in mind yet, in all honesty." His ears flattened a little. “Most of them sounded so-so, and the more promising ones were, well, all the animated ones." He certainly didn't mind watching 'cartoons' as far as movies went, but this was new territory: he had no idea what Emily's tastes were when he thought about it. Thankfully if she did have a preference, it was easy to let her pick a direction with it. Even if the movie didn't appeal to him, the company would. “I meant to, but honestly I got distracted by the weather. Theater food looks as expensive as ever."

“We could always split the popcorn, but I draw the line at sharing the Swedish Fish." Emily plucked the mentioned candy from a shelf with a grin.

“Ooh, Swedish Fish." Pan found himself sorely tempted, then gave in, grabbing a box for himself. “Fair deal. Butter or no butter? For the popcorn I mean."

“Butter. If we're paying that much for it we may as well get all the butter we could want. And napkins."

“Definitely napkins."

A bag of popcorn and two jellied fish candies between them, they began going over their movie options.

“I Roborygon?" Pan pointed over to the poster with the humanoid shaped Porygon in several shades of white.

“I do like Bill Smeth, though seems like a pretty serious movie." Emily 'snuck' a piece of popcorn, taking her time with it as she looked over the other choices. “Bigtop Burger, the movie?"

She didn't seem too keen on the option, despite suggesting it. “I'm not a fan of the series, and it doesn't look like you are either."

“Oh Thank God." Relief flashed over her face. “Do you know anything about Morbius II?"

“The first one was apparently a train wreck. I'm surprised they even made a sequel." He pointed to another. “What about Fire Squad?"

This one seemed to give them both some thought. Pan didn't know much about it himself, but the display at least made it look reasonably promising, and Emily didn't turn it down right away either. Though as the moment went on, he noticed her gaze didn't seem focused on the display at all. “Something wrong?"

She hesitated, but looked at him as she bit at her thumb. “Call it paranoia because fire, but I have this nagging worry one of the ovens is still on and there's something still in it."

Oh. “How nagging is nagging?" He looked out the glass entryway; the rain now had a light drizzle going.

“Low but still definitely on if I forgot, but I really can't be sure. It's all just habit at this point and I can't tell if it's just me imagining or something."

“Well, you got your umbrella, right?"

“Yeah."

“Then let's go check." He reached out and took her box of candy, slipping it into one of his pockets as he put his own in another. “Best case, everything is fine and we come back and just watch a later movie, or hang out in the rain. Worst case, we find a mostly burnt down bakery shop. We just have to shoot for better than worst case." He tried to give her his best reassuring smile. “If your dad hasn't called we're probably okay, and if we leave now we'll hopefully avoid most of the rain.

Some hope returned to Emily's face as she looked out the front lobby. A distant sound of thunder made the rain come down just a little harder. “Right," she handed him the popcorn as she reached into her purse. “If I'm wrong, you can have half of my fish as an apology for dragging you around."

“If you're wrong, you're hand feeding them to me." Pan countered with a smirk, though he sincerely hoped she was just being paranoid.

“Deal."

---

They made it to the van only mildly soaked, with Pan protecting the popcorn the whole way. Neither of them ate any as the rain picked up in intensity and the actual concern they'd find a fire occupied their nerves. Pan wanted to tell Emily to slow down a little, but he wasn't sure if that was a smart thing to do under the circumstances, or if things just felt faster because of the rain and tension.

On the plus side, there was no distant glow in the darkness to suggest a raging inferno already, so the worst case scenario seemed safely routed.

“We're almost there." Emily announced as they made the turn.

“It makes sense to go to the front, right?" Pan perked up in his seat. “If something is actually on fire, we'd see the glow through the front windows, right?"

“Maybe," Emily frowned as she thought it over. “If it's just smoldering inside, we might not and it'd still set off the fire alarm, but I think we'd be able to spot smoke at least."

On the way, the looming skies had finally given in to its waiting temper tantrum. It was only rain, thankfully, but the loud pounding of raindrops on the roof and the obscuring veil on the drive over was still a little terrifying.

“Here we are."

They pulled into the front parking lot of the building, nothing obviously on fire. With the headlights of the van reflecting off the front windows they strained to see past water, glass, certified metal security gate and glare. Turning the headlights off just shrouded most of it in darkness, save a less intense glare of a nearby lamp post..

“I don't think I see a glow. What about you?"

Pan leaned forward, nose almost touching the windshield. “Only from the lamp, I think. I don't exactly make it a habit of peering into buildings in the middle of the night while it's pouring rain. I can't tell if there's any smoke either. The condensation is just too much."

Emily's forehead settled on the top of the steering wheel, gently thumping against it. “Stupid, stupid brain. This is stupid. I'm sorry for making us come back out here."

Pan lifted his hand, intending to give her a consoling pat, but hesitated: Should he go for the head? Innocent, but potentially patronizing. The back was probably too intimate, but it didn't feel right to use this moment to try and push his own goals. The shoulder was a nice middle ground, and yet it also felt like it'd doom him to friendship status.

Maybe he needed to try something else entirely?

Picking up the now-cold popcorn, he gently bumped the bag against her arm. That got her attention enough to turn her head, a faint look of surprise on her face.

“Greasy, cold popcorn to soothe the soul? I hear digging to the bottom finds happiness, and sometimes butter."

She snorted at that, but her spirits definitely came back a little as she took a few pieces from the top. “I guess this does count as a drive-in theater, waiting for something exciting to happen. Thanks."

“Welcome. You got all the shop keys on your keychain, right?"

“Uh huh. Why?"

“Making something exciting happen."

Pan reached over and turned the van off with a twist of the key, sliding it out with a messy jangle of metal as he flipped through looking for the right one. Emily sat back in confusion at the sudden stillness of the engine, watching dumbly as he flipped through the keys. “Wha—? What are you doing?"

There; he had the front door key now. He popped the door lock and pulled on the release for the passenger side. Their dry, air conditioned bubble of solitude burst with the sound and moisture of the wet, roaring outside.

“Pan!?"

Too late. He'd already unclicked the seatbelt and lept out into the rain.

“HEY!"

Even with his mane serving as the first line of defense against a soaking, the raindrops were friggin cold. Pan swore as he ran—carefully, to his annoyance—towards the bakery door. He could already feel the water on his neck as he ducked under the cover of the overhead, only to find it not much of an overhead at all; the wide downpour funneled into a waterfall, thoroughly dousing what little protection he had. The keys nearly fell from his claws as he tried to press up against the door and still bend over to reach the actual lock.

“Fuuuck! I did not think this through!"

He fumbled, fighting between not getting more soaked than necessary and getting the key into place, a quickly losing battle as the keyhole resisted. The rain soaked his back and dribbled down his pants now as he finally got the key partway in. “Almost there!"

The waterfall suddenly vanished as a shadow loomed over him, and a familiar pair of heels came into view. “What the hell, Pan! You're getting soaked!" Emily had joined him with her umbrella, squeezing into the space as best she could while using the umbrella to redirect the waterfall. “What were you thinking!?"

Just the presence of the umbrella became major boon to his efforts. No longer distracted he got the key the rest of the way in as he turned the lock. “I was thinking I couldn't claim half your Swedish Fish if we didn't make sure the oven wasn't sitting on." he looked up at her with a bigger grin than he had anticipated. The bewildered look on her face, the closeness of her form to him in the moment, the liveliness of the situation; he found all of it amazingly intoxicating. “I got the lock. Get ready to slip in so I can get the gate."

“You're crazy!" But she didn't try to stop him, instead prepping her hand on the door handle to swing it open as soon as he slipped back. The umbrella followed as best as it could as she tried to keep them both shielded from the water as he ducked in, now looking for the next key in the much more generous shelter of the shop space.

Emily went straight to the back to check the oven, leaving Pan dripping on the in the middle of the storefront. With a small shudder, he pulled the security gate back down and then shuffled towards the breakroom to get a look at himself in the full body mirror; now that they were past the suspenseful rain soaking stage, the lack of adrenaline made the chill of being wet more pronounced. Just how wet was he?

The mirror confirmed his fears: Absolutely drenched. Paradoxically, everything inside his pockets were mostly dry; his wallet, phone, both boxes of candy, and now his hair bead sat on the counter as he carefully wringed his mane out into the rolling bucket. It made a satisfying plunking noise as he did so, but it was clear it was to blame for most of his condition from absorbing all the water that had poured on him at the front door.

Emily showed back up at this point, looking relieved but frustrated. “Good news is, nothing was left in the ovens. Bad news is I did leave one of them slightly on. It probably wouldn't have actually caused anything to burn down, but I still feel stupid."

Pan gave her a consoling smile, though it felt a little awkward with his head tiled over like it was. “Hey, silver lining: you don't have to give me your fish. It's still better we came to check than just assume nothing was wrong."

She looked him over, not looking too convinced. “You got soaked in the process. That doesn't feel like a win."

“Fortunately I wash out. You should try the spin cycle sometime, but only if it's a top feeding machine and there's a part in the middle to hold on to."

As intended, he got a snort from her, and the slight frown turned into a smirk. Unexpected was her going over to pick up the industrial fan, however. “Come on, drag your mop head and bucket with you to the front. We need to get the puddle we left.

His mane was wringed enough to not be dripping endlessly by this point, so he followed along as directed, bringing the actual mop along as well. In the wider space of the store front, running the fan would definitely help dry up the leftover dampness as he quickly mopped up the excess fluid, but it would make him more uncomfortable with his soaked clothes.

So he thought, anyways.

Emily, meanwhile, had shifted the chairs and tables a little bit and fished something out from her purse: a brush. Looking satisfied with the puddle, she fixed her gaze onto him. “Okay. Strip."

“Huh!?"

“Take off your clothes and drape them on the chairs here." She gestured to her arrangement, now obviously aligned with where she had the fan set up. “They're soaked. I'm not gonna drag you back into the rain and try to kill you with the flu or something. At the very least it's a lot easier to try and get the water out of them if you're not in them, and then I don't have to worry about you getting sick because of that either." She pulled one last chair over in front of her, tapping the frame lightly with the brush in her hand. “I'm going to brush that thing you call a hair style while we're at it, since I can't exactly stick you in the oven to dry."

This was, this, the thing—Pan couldn't even articulate in his head what was suddenly happening. “What are you, a witch?" Bewilderment turned to wit. “Just because you saw me naked once doesn't mean you can just undress me when you please!"

She did nod her head in acknowledgement to that, but didn't seem deterred. “True, but I was just gonna have you illusion some fake clothes on so it was less awkward. That said, it's not like I haven't seen other naked pokemon, so I'm not going to judge if you'd prefer that. Do you want me to give you some privacy to change in front of the window?"

Pan had not expected this level of boldness, but at the same time, he couldn't deny any of the logic brought out either. It didn't change him being flustered, though. “Alright, alright! You win! I'll let you brush me like one of your, French girls or whatever." He made his way over to the chair as he fumbled with his shirt piece. “Geez. I didn't think you were such a deviant with a hair brush..."

For at least a modicum of privacy, he at least turned away so he wasn't facing her as she excused herself to grab something from the break room. He welcomed the private moment of respite, since it did let him undress in peace, but it also gave him a moment to try and smack some sense into himself.

Like how he could have just illusioned a curtain or robe or something and undressed under that without any concern for nudity, saving them both a lot of awkwardness.

Idiot Zoroark.

She returned, his clothes draped over the chairs as directed and himself turned away on another, mane spread out a bit more and hanging free for full access. He'd settled on the classic barber shop cape to serve as his modesty, though the chair didn't have any arms to rest on, which left him perching his claws on his knees. He heard her approach from behind, then felt his mane move; he felt her hand combing through it experimentally.

“Might be a dumb question right now, but should I just treat this like I would comb my own hair? Anything special about it?"

“It should be more or less the same, just a lot more of it."

The hand pulled away. He heard the fan click on, then found himself grabbing at the illusory cape as it abruptly fluttered up on him.

“Sorry! My bad!" The breeze turned to mostly going onto his mane. A tiny draft of it still snuck under, but not so much to actually cause it to fly up. “Better?"

He nodded, settling his hands back into place. “Yeah."

And so began the brushing.

They worked in relative silence at first. Rather, She brushed along his mane one strip at a time, trying to get to the very end. He heard the faint drips of water getting knocked loose to the floor; they'd probably have to mop again, but it wouldn't be nearly as bad as when they had slipped in. He heard the faint rattle of a candy box behind him as well, suggesting Emily had grabbed her Swedish Fish when she'd stepped away. It reminded him of his lack of food and the minimal amount of popcorn he'd had prior to everything going on, but he didn't want to distract her with the request when she was concentrating.

A moot point as a hand popped up in his side view holding one of the little red magikarp shapes. “Fish?"

“Thanks." He took it and popped it into his maw, eyes slowly falling shut as he gently worried and suckled on the jellied flesh. Between the brushing of his mane, sitting back to the ambience of the still determined downpour outside and the dim lit atmosphere, things were actually kinda cozy.

He wouldn't mind enjoying it for a while longer...

“So, should I ask why you were going commando for this outing?"

The fish lodged itself in his throat, then promptly popped back up as he coughed.

“Sorry. Bad timing for that question."

“Bullshit," he rasped, rubbing at his neck, “You totally did that on purpose; I'm still wearing them. You shouldn't just strip down for anyone that asks without precautions."

The humor in her voice suggested a big grin. “That's true, I suppose. Is your favorite color the green ones, or the blue? Or is that just what was in the packaging?"

“Packaging. Pokemon clothes are kinda limited in choices. Having a mostly human-sized body helps a lot." Was this leading to something particular? Maybe she really had slipped her panties into his laundry. It felt more like she was making conversation and teasing him than trying to suggest something, however. “Thank you again for helping with the laundry, by the way. And this."

Another Swedish Fish appeared for him. “Thank you for braving the rain to help check the oven." Now the tone was softer; appreciative versus impish. “I guess I screwed up our relaxing plans though."

“It's not a total loss. We both still have a job tomorrow. Some folks like watching it rain, and the ambience is pretty good in here even with the security gate. I'm even getting my mane brushed... Little drafty though."

“Hey, I'm getting that draft too. I'm wearing a skirt, remember?"

“I reserve the right to not make a witty response to that on the chance Tobias somehow pops up out of nowhere."

They fell into silence again, with the periodic fish offered and appreciation expressed. After a few times, he dared to take the fish directly from her with his mouth, which seemed to amuse her. Eventually his mane no longer dripped and looked uncommonly sleek, dried out enough in combination with the fan to at least make his health not a serious concern. His clothes, however, were nowhere near as swift to dry out, even if they weren't dripping.

“Well, I can always streak home. At this hour I don't think anyone would think twice about it." Pan shrugged as he put his pants back over the chair. “Not sure the theater would appreciate my fluffy butt though."

“At least a third of the movie goers were pokemon that weren't wearing anything," Emily countered, taking a seat nearby. “Though they probably would take it amiss with you in nothing but a thong."

Pan adjusted his cape in case it wasn't covering up as much as he thought. “Jock strap."

“We'll ask if it matters next time we try going." She slid a second box of Swedish Fish across the table towards him. “For now, we at least got candy."

That was true. He sat across from her at the table and took the box, slipping out another fish. “True. Candy is dandy, and Dandy likes candy."

“I'm calling you Dandy now, just for that."

They both peered off into the rain together, and once more, that comfortable ambience of rain settled in to fill the quiet along with the soft rattle of Swedish Fish.

From across the table, Emily's hand held out another fish for him. He looked up to her gaze, inviting him to take it while she had another held between her lips by the fin. “For 'elping 'e out.' She said around it.

He gave a small smirk at that. “Isn't it rude to thank someone with your mouth full?"

In response, she pulled the fish in and stuck her tongue out at him. Just to add to the moment, she slipped the fish right back out, glistening slightly with saliva as she spoke around it again. ''Ast chance."

Last chance. He looked between the offered fish and the expectant face...

Reaching out towards the fish, he instead gently grasped her wrist as he leaned forward, pressing his mouth to hers. Their lips pressed and held, and with great care, he plucked the fish out from between them with his teeth. With a quick flick of his tongue he pulled it in and swallowed. “Thanks."

Deep down, he hoped he looked as calm as acted, dressing in nothing but his jockstrap and a barber's cape. Beneath the fuzzy veneer his heart pumped wildly, while his stomach did backflips, leaving the poor fish in a world of chaos. He watched her reaction carefully, hoping that, even if he had made the wrong call, that he at least hadn't ruined things.

He heard the other fish drop, and let her arm go as it began to move. Her eyes were wide and stunned, but despite this he felt her grab onto the cape and pull. Illusory as it was, he still felt the tug of it behind his neck as he followed the movement and ended up connecting lips again. Her eyes flitted shut, and with ecstatic relief, he closed his as well, the both of them now fumbling their way through the touch of their lips and the taste of their breaths.

The table between them became a burden. They both rose up at the same time as he shuffled around it and cupped her cheeks in his hands. The barber's cape vanished with a faint pop, but that didn't stop her from burying her hands into his chest fur and gripping tightly. Neither of them seemed able to find the ideal way to kiss, muzzle to flat face, but nothing stopped them from experimenting wildly to find a solution. Nor did he leave it at only that, nuzzling his face against hers, licking along her cheek and neck as his hands wandered down her arms and caressed more of her. Soon they were at her elbows, then her sides, then her back underneath her blouse.

The clothes between them became a burden.

The way her body trembled as his clawtips danced across skin made his jock strap tighten. He was his utmost gentlest, for all he reveled in the details of sensation, of contact. Their kissing halted, but only because of the discovery of how she squirmed when he buried his face into her neck, licking, nipping, kissing. She seemed to love it when his muzzle made its way down the neck of her blouse and he lapped at the heated skin just above her breasts; at the way he snuffled past the bra beneath to lap at the actual skin of her breasts. He made it simpler for both of them when he pulled back just long enough to unfasten her blouse, somehow not destroying the buttons along the way. He had no idea how he managed to do the same to the bra, but neither of them asked the others thoughts as he seized her by the rump and hoisted her up higher, now pressing her up against the wall with his hips and hands as support.

Rain poured and pouted, forgotten. The faint lights of passing cars beyond, forgotten. The cool breeze pushed by the whirling fan, mingling with the burning heat of their bodies, forgotten but not unnoticed. No one cared about the spilled boxes of Swedish Fish, the movie theater with its questionable displays, or the various violations being committed just in that one room.

They focused on the gasps they could make her give when his tongue danced along her nipple just so, the way she pressed back against him and writhed when the tented pole in his jockstrap grinded against her covered crotch beneath the skirt, the close embrace they shared when their lips met again and again, each time a little more effective, able to share more of their affection, their desire, their instincts.

The growing need between them became a burden.

It took very little to shove that one bit of cloth and elastic out of the way, revealing a burgeoning red shaft. They didn't bother to do the same with her own underwear, in part because he had a very hard time not just trying to thrust against her the moment he'd been freed. He did have enough sense in his mind to slide one claw neatly into the waistline of the fabric and scoot it over to one side, however, making the opening needed for his tip to hit the mark and hold everything in place. Her breath jumped in pitch, and he felt her squeeze against him, and from there, he demonstrated one of the other differences in pokemon from humans.

Carefully, wantingly, but carefully.

Each press widened her a little more. Each thrust buried him a little deeper. Each movement made her bounce just a little against the wall, even as each clench made his balls wobble and slowly send his jockstrap to the floor. They were committed to the moment, and with each pulse of his heartbeat with hers, he committed himself again.

And again.

“MMph!"

And again.

“Ah!"

Her legs tightened around him, demanding more. He obliged happily, making her belly swell, not just from the depths. He almost didn't notice his knot completing its ritual, even as his thrusts became stunted, but with that change came another feeling, and with that, a faster, quicker pace that brought out much more noise between them, more tightness, and more leg clenching. After that, as the euphoria of their connection flowed between them, even his legs seem to clench, to tremble and—

Oh, that was him losing his ability to stand. A quick feel around found a nearby chair, and before his legs truly gave out on him, he managed to position it so that his rump fell neatly into it, adding a nice, final bump into the rut of their union.

It felt like they'd run a mile—maybe twenty— in a mad, carnal dance of chase. A stupid comparison, and Pan knew it, but he blamed it all on the sudden exertion they'd both gone through, and the fact that some of the blood to his brain was probably still committed to the tie between them. There was also the faint chill between his legs, but a few moments spared trying to think confirmed it was just the fan now consummating their connection as well, no doubt helping to dry a new puddle slowly forming on the floor.

Emily's head rested against his shoulder, nuzzling into his fur. He in turn nuzzled back, happy to rest his nose near the nape of her neck so each breath brought with it some of her scent.

This all had definitely been worth getting soaked.

“So, I hope this means we can consider dating?"

She let out a small groan, squirming a bit as she turned her head so as not to talk into his fur. “No questions until the blood's back in my brain. Sex is more tiring than I thought."

He couldn't help but grin at that, applying a little sympathy by stroking over her rump. Though maybe that was him just enjoying the moment more, considering it was direct contact and not through the skirt. “That's supposed to be my excuse, not yours."

“Shut it." She mock bit his shoulder before spitting out some fur, though maybe it had meant to be a more serious bite. Either way it just made him grin harder and shake a bit with tired laughter.

“Okay, okay. I'll ask again on the next date."

“Deal."

And so they sat in cool, soothing silence. For a few moments anyways.

“Can you pass me a fish?" Emily murmured.

<end>