It smelt like paint. Still. That was the first of many thoughts that circled through Gladion's head when he was lying awake in uncomfortable and insomniatic misery. Presently, after circumstances that he was desperately wanting to forget, he was sleeping in a bed in the master bedroom of the former Team Skull's stomping ground mansion in Po Town. To his left, off of the bed and on the floor, was some grunt guy named Patrick who was passed out against the wall with his hands down his pants and a booger bubble that was inflating and deflating under his nose. To his right, even more glamourous, was none other than Guzma, who decided Gladion would make a great throw cuddle toy and was embracing him clingingly by the shoulder while taking up 3/4ths of a bed with his legs nearly spread eagle in relaxation. Gladion, stuck between these two unrelenting forces, was trapped.
In all honesty, Gladion couldn't remember why he ended up here, even though he didn't drink or do anything that evening to make him impaired. Likely he was just lost in thought and ended up where he always went whenever he needed a distraction from the inner screaming chambers of his mind—sitting on Guzma's cock. Since all the bullshit that happened with his mom quite a few years back, and even during, Guzma was still the default place he usually called home. Sure he stopped by Aether every couple months to pick up Lillie's Johto postcards (and send back some kind of trinket like a moon ball or something), and yeah he still occasionally liked challenging little trainers with their Rowlets so Silvally could have target practice with blazing fire-memory Multi-Attacks, but when the sun set and he had nowhere else to go and no one else to talk to, he just seemed to always end up with Guzma. Or…on Guzma.
But that night, wedged between Guzma's flaccid dick and some grunt frat party that didn't need more detail, Gladion just felt the same cold feeling he always felt whenever he was alone at night. Shit. Shit about himself, shit about his life, and then shit about himself again. Shit, on top of shit, piled with shit. Most of it, realistically, still had to do with gender, which Gladion had been fucking with in his head for months and was only recently trying to get to a better place about it. But whenever he did, he always came to the same dumb conclusion that he didn't want to talk about it and just wanted to ignore everything. The more time he could spend pretending he didn't have a body and was just a walking husk of a soul, the better, because it was the best way to cope with what he'd been dealt with.
Gladion was a guy, and had always been a guy. One thing he did have going for him, much to his relief, was at every corner of his journey he was met with overwhelming support from everyone around him. Sometimes even too much, to the point where he just felt like it was all anyone talked about. When Lillie had just barely grown hair past her shoulders, she was already calling him "big bro" when he asked her to, and she never ever messed up. Gladion could count on two hands the amount of times she'd sent him Kanto souvenir packages with binders, cologne, and dumb T-Shirts with messages like "BULBASAUR BOY" and "DITTO, DUDE!". Gladion couldn't deny these all made him smile. But yet, even so, Gladion was still unhappy.
His mother was a different case, though not in a bad way, but definitely not a good way. It likely still had to do with her strange obsession with his aesthetics, and right after Gladion came out to her, it's like a flame lit up her in pupils and she immediately went to work creating her "perfect son". Whether or not that was even out of love was something Gladion stopped asking himself when she left for Kanto and he stopped seeing her.
And then…there was Guzma. Who had never brought it up, and they had literally never talked about it, despite literally fucking. In a way it was perfect, because Gladion just didn't have to talk about it. But then in another way, it was horrible, because they never talked about it, and for all Gladion knew, Guzma was just looking for a hole to screw. Not that that'd be a bad thing, they're not going to pick out floral patterns for their wedding, they aren't even dating. But it just raised more and more questions, like what if Guzma had the wrong impression? What if Gladion had been getting banged by a bigot? Who knew anymore. All that was obvious was that Gladion could not fucking sleep.
Gladion decided enough had been enough, and stood up out of bed, pulling out the floor rug they had lazily been using as a comforter and throwing it across the room dramatically. All Guzma did in response to this is was turn over and grunt. Rolling his eyes, Gladion got up, threw some underwear on that wasn't even his on and walked over to the window to look outside.
The view of their house in Po Town was shit, but if you turned your head and looked at it like you were an Unovian art student, it was tragically gorgeous. Everything was looted and throw around after the artists formally known as Team Skull decided to make it their terf, and even after all these years nobody wanted to come back and live here, so it was mostly just inhabited by punk kids and old team skull grunts needing a roof over their head. Nobody had a lease, but Nanu never asked many questions. But still, it made all of Gladion's annoying trains of thought just build and build.
Soon, Gladion's tiny hairs stood up all over his body when he was started by a loud grumble from the bed, "nnng…dammit… Patrick… stop jackin' off…."
The sound came from Guzma, from a low part of his voice that Gladion only heard when he came. Hearing it this way, Gladion wasn't sure if he should throw up or be turned on.
"Nngah, fuck off boss…" was the awakened response from the guy on the ground.
Gladion just rolled his eyes and continued looking out the window, trying to get back to his own thoughts. But that was short lived after a couple more seconds.
"…Eh? Glad? Glad where the fuck…"
Gladion wasn't about to tell him where he was. He could figure it out, he had eyes.
"Oh," Guzma croaked, "You're over there. Glad, what the fuck? Come back to bed."
"No," Gladion hissed back.
The air in the room got thinner, and what followed after that was a very long winded and exhausted sigh. Guzma very tiredly moaned, "Patrick…Pat, get the fuck out of here."
"What the fuck?" Patrick, the grunt on the floor, snapped back.
"I gotta talk to Glad, asshole, get the fuck out, go burst your load on the other boys next door."
Gladion didn't turn around to watch it, but he heard Patrick very slowly getting up off of the floor and shuffling sleepily out the door, but not before mumbling something to the effect of "nnn…fuckin'…burst a load on your fuckin ass…dick shit son of a…"
"Glad!" Guzma half whispered and half yelled from his comfortable position on the bed, "GLADION, what the fuck's goin' on? You can't sleep?"
Gladion didn't move a muscle and just kept looking on, "No, I just decided to get up and stare out the fucking window because I wanted to do a watercolor painting of the beautiful sights of Alola and I needed some fucking inspiration."
"…Oh, okay, good night." Guzma mumbled, rolling over.
"Oh my fucking god," Gladion scoffed with a giant disappointing faceplam, "yes I can't sleep, you literal fucking douche bag."
"Okay, okay! God damn, don't go writing about it in your fuckin' diary, I'm getting up."
Gladion turned around and looked to see Guzma shuffling out of bed as fast as his sleeping legs would take him. "No, y-you don't actually have to get out of bed, I'm fine, I just can't sleep…"
Guzma was waving his hand in the air dismissing what Gladion was sayin, while shuffling over to him, fully naked. "Yeah yeah, whatever, that's bullshit, tell me what's botherin' you."
In traditional Guzma fashion, he had just arisen from bed but looked like he'd woke from a tombstone. Fully naked, he had little black hairs spread all throughout his body, and his crotch was extremely bushy and unkept. Gladion never really minded this, as Guzma definitely had the silver daddy complex going for him when he wanted it, even though for the most part he looked and acted like a mix of a teenager and an old man. But he made it work.
"I said you can go back to bed," Gladion repeated adamantly.
"And I said I wanted to hear, so fuckin' tell me."
"…You really want to know?" Gladion asked flippantly.
Guzma exhaled heavily, "Yeah, I wanna know, why do you think I'm even gettin' up? We'll both go painting together, come on."
Gladion felt Guzma give him a stern and single pat on the back that sent goosebumps all down his body, and yet instantly made him feel better to know he might have somebody to listen to what he needed to get off of his chest. At least he was hoping he could, if Guzma was bullshitting him.
Guzma made Gladion come walking to face the window once again, this time they were both standing there and looking reflective. Though, only one of them was wearing clothes. From what Gladion could make out from the very dim light from the moon above, Guzma's expression did seem genuine. He looked at Gladion and said in a normal tone, "What's on your mind?"
"Umm…" Gladion mumbled, "It's…complicated, I guess. We don't really have to talk about it."
At this point, Gladion was really hoping Guzma would just outright guess what the problem is and Gladion wouldn't have to say it. But Guzma was never one for subtlety. Gladion let out a deep sigh, scratching the dry skin on the back of his neck and rubbing his face to avoid going any further with this conversation.
"I…" he continued, "It's just about…stupid stuff. In my head."
"I got stupid stuff in my head, too. Like, literally, I think buggy boy has been peeing in my shampoo and making me smell like Golisopod piss," Guzma chuckled, "Haha…fuckin' dick, man. I'll get him back, though."
Gladion remained purposefully silent. It was clear this wasn't making the conversation any easier, and Guzma was losing his comedic demeanor.
"Glad, just tell me what's going on," he stammered, "What happened? You don't wanna fuck anymore? Things not cool anymore or nah?"
"It's not about that…" Gladion shuffled, "W-Well…kinda. I mean—I don't know."
Guzma shifted his focus away from looking out the window and now looking at Gladion with a surprisingly concerned face. It was way out of character from he to be so serious, and Gladion felt too awkward about it all to even look back. Gladion kept his arms crossed and picked one single spot in Po Town to stare at, hoping this would all blow over and Guzma would just walk away and forget about it in the morning, when they'd inevitably have more sex and the cycle would repeat like it had their entire knowing each other.
Eventually though it was clear Guzma wasn't giving in, because he kept staring. Though since Gladion wasn't looking, for all he knew he had just fallen asleep with his eyes open, but he still needed to say something or this would never end.
After thinking up the words, Gladion choked up, "I'm…you know. I'm weird. I'm a freak. Down there. I wasn't made right or something."
"…Oh." Guzma said quickly, looking back out the window now. "So that's it. Thought it was something serious."
That comment made Gladion irritated enough that he made a dramatic scoff and walked away from the window, picking a random spot on the wall and crossing his arms in protest.
"Nooo nah nah nah—" Guzma started rapid firing with his words at Gladion, "Nah, don't go walking away. We gotta talk about it—"
"—You don't care!" Gladion hissed sharply, "It's fine. It doesn't matter. You don't have to give a shit, you just have to fuck me in my fucked up hole. That's all you want anyway."
There was a painfully long pause thereafter. The sound in the room went so mute and empty that you could have heard a Joltik sneeze. Gladion was subconsciously aware that he was throwing an undeserved fit against Guzma, but a part him didn't care, because it was easier pushing people away than pulling them in. This should have happened with Guzma years ago. Meanwhile, Guzma remained speechless, and Gladion wasn't going to turn around to figure out why.
"…D-don't talk about yourself like that, dude…" whispered Guzma, with an audible shuffle of his feet. "That's…that's not true, man. And I don't think like that. Why you thinkin' I think like that?"
That wasn't the response Gladion expected, though he probably should have. Guzma hadn't done anything, he didn't need to take it all out on him, but he couldn't help it.
Guzma continued, "Glad…I never brought up that stuff because it I thought you didn't wanna talk 'bout it. And I mean yeah I knew, but it's like—"
"—How did you know?" Gladion snapped sassily, breaking Guzma's focus.
"How'd I know? I pulled down your fuckin—nah, nah sorry, I'm not gonna yell," Guzma said with very cracked voice. It was obvious that this conversation was making him nervous, and every word was hanging in limbo like a sensitive sewing needle before it was spoken. "Look, I mean—I found out when we were 'bout to fuck and all, but I mean, it ain't like I cared."
Gladion didn't believe any of this. Somebody as freakishly built as him wasn't just brushed off as normal, and if it was, it's because Guzma obviously cared more about what he stuck it his dick into than the person attached to it.
"You're telling me," Gladion smirked passive-aggressively while turning around, "That you just looked at a guy with a fucking…hole…and you just said whatever, fuck it?"
"Yes!" Guzma sighed with a huge relief.
Guzma threw it hands up in the air on his side and had a very confused animated expression on his face that read like he'd just been given a parking ticket on his birthday. "Fuck you?! The fuck I even did?!"
"You don't even care what you're fucking! Even if it's a weird and misshapen mutant like me,"
"STOP CALLING YOURSELF THAT SHIT, MAN!"
Guzma had just yelled at the top of his lungs, and the air in the room had never felt tenser. The boy in the back hoodie just stared back at him with a huge, wide expression. Why was he getting so worked up about this? They'd never even talked about this until just now, and they weren't even dating, what did it matter if Gladion didn't like himself? At least Gladion knew his place in this relationship, they never once talked about caring about each other.
After a few tight seconds, Guzma exhaled and his arms fell back to his side, "Look man…you're not a fuckin' mutant. There's nothing wrong with you. Why would you think that?"
Gladion had several things he wanted to scream back, but his mind was just going cold with so many mixed emotions at once. Some of it was anger, most which was just sadness and pain boiled over and burning on the hot gas stove that was his brain. But mostly he was just wondering how so many people could support him. What did everybody see in him that made him so special?
"And for the record," spoke Guzma seriously, "No, I don't just stick my cock into any hole that walks by. I'm not gonna just fuck everything that moves. I like the person, man. I like you."
Gladion's eyes grew like full moons, "…what?"
"GAH!" Guzma exclaimed, putting hold hands threw his white hair and bending his knees dramatically, "Man, why'd you have to make me say it? Okay, yeah, I like you. No shit. So yeah, I don't like it when you starting talking about yourself like that and bringing yourself down!"
Gladion was lost for words at this point, and was just absorbing the millions of words Guzma was throwing at him per second. Though only some words were fully processing.
"And I mean so fuckin' what, what you got? You still Glad, you still the same guy, it ain't like you sproutin' a dick the size of mine will turn you into the fuckin' Alolan Champion or something. But also, like, you still have a dick, man!"
"No I don't…"
"Yeah you do! Fuck it! What's the god damn difference? It still does the same thing! And you're still the same Gladion, man!"
All of this was far more real of a reaction to Gladion than the overwhelming support he'd gotten from his family and thereafter. Something about Guzma's quick speak and sweaty palms made it feel more real, like it wasn't forced for the sake of avoiding hurting his feelings, but Guzma was really trying. On top of all this, Guzma potentially revealing some kind of feelings he'd been harboring for Gladion was not something he was prepared for. Feelings weren't something they ever, ever talked about.
Guzma scratched his head and looked down at himself, "Shit, man…I literally just realized I haven't been wearing any clothes this entire time."
"Makes no difference to me," Gladion attempted to suggestively, but it came out snarky by mistake.
Another brief moment of pondering, and Guzma laughed, "Heh, you know…you really are something, Glad. I don't get why you don't see it."
It pained Gladion to admit it, but Guzma was right about one thing—his entire life, Gladion had never given himself enough credit, even when it was due. But he couldn't help himself. Being self-deprecating was easier than being confident.
"I'm…working on it." Gladion said shortly.
Guzma nodded his head up and down a few times, then put his hands on his hips, "Alright, looks like we got somewhere today. Anything else you wanna get off your chest?"
"HA!" Guzma snorted, "Set you up for that one, didn't I? Ahh…Guzma, you'ze a clever one."
Gladion cracked a smile, but looked away and acted natural before Guzma could turn back and notice. He felt better. It seemed like Guzma was telling the truth and not bullshitting, which was all Gladion really needed to hear at the moment.
"Seriously though, you good?" Guzma asked once again, being very apparently serious.
Gladion just nodded, which was the truth. He didn't know how, but Guzma's bluntness and quickness to the conversation was exactly what he needed. They didn't dwell on it for hours, they talked about it and it was over. It was pretty extraordinary, having been living with the doubt for so long about Guzma. But he proved him wrong.
"Righty," Guzma said clapping his hands together eagerly, "Now I want some dick."
"Pfft, yeah good luck finding any of that here," Gladion groaned with an eye roll.
Guzma turned to stare into Gladion's eye with the look that he only got when he had one thing on his mind. His big bushy eyebrow was arched and his lips were slid to one side of his cheek with a perverted and menacing grin. Standing there naked with his hands on his hips, his dick was slowly but surely gaining momentum beginning to stand nice and erect. Gladion noticed this first.
Guzma chuckled low, "Hm. Think Guzma's gotta look for dick? The dick comes to Guzma."
Without any warning or time to think about it, Gladion suddenly found himself pushed up against beige wallpaper with a hard thump, as Guzma had come forward to grab and push Gladion by the crotch. Guzma's free hand was put on the wall above Gladion's head, so he was forced to look into the starving eyes of the older, horny as hell man who was handling him. Guzma's grip wasn't anything too kind either, it was hard, and his entire palm as wrapped around Gladion's nether region like he had picked up a kitten by the back of its neck. He was in complete control of his boy.
"Wha—" Gladion breathed, but had hardly the words.
"I said—" Guzma pronounced epically, "I—want—dick."
"B-But I don't h-have—"
Guzma had sqeezed Gladion's pelvis region so hard that it made him wince up slightly and sprawl higher up on the wall, like he was locked in a chokehold, but a chokehold on his fucking crotch. It was terrifying, but unbelievably and irresistibly arousing. Gladion body was quivering horny in a matter of seconds.
"Told you to stop fuckin' saying that. You're perfect just the way you are."
"What was that?" Guzma taunted.
Guzma eased his face closer to Gladions so that their noses were touching. Their eyes were locked, Gladion's with a submissive glow, and Guzma's burning yellow with hunger.
"Give me your fucking dick, boy." Guzma demanded in a low growl. His hold on Gladion's cock was only getting tighter.
"T-Take it…" Gladion moaned, wanting badly to feel the touch of Guzma's hand without the barricade of his pants and underwear. But even still, his small and sensitive dick was pushed against the cloth in a way that made it feel even better.
Gladion squirmed like a cat getting its belly rubbed, "Do whatever you want to me…boss…"
Guzma's face lit up like he'd just won the lottery, "Ho ho ho, you know what happens when you call me that. It's over now."
Again, in Guzma's style, his hand moved from clutching the outside of his pants to the inside, rubbing and forcing friction upon Gladion's own dick itself. And the amount of times Guzma was calling it a dick, and not anything else, was making it feel sexier than he'd ever been touched like this before.
The pleasure went over Gladion like he'd set foot into a flame. It inched up his whole body, but focused itself in the center of his sexual organ like the heart of a bubbling volcano. Guzma was moving his hands fast, hard, and even when Gladion would have normally stopped on his own accord, Guzma continued, and Gladion was forced to release control fight through every fiery jolt of friction that felt like it was burning in the best possible way.
"F…fuck…" Gladion moaned in high pitch voice.
"Fuck yeah, boy," Guzma echoed back, "Boss thinks this boy here needs a little reminder. You forgot how special you are. Guzma needs to help you remember, huh?"
Gladion could feel Guzma's own rock hard cock rubbing up against the top of his stomach, due to their height difference. It was only a matter of time until Guzma shoved it deep inside Gladion, and he had to prepare every second that it might happen, as Guzma was unpredictable.
Guzma leaned in to wall so that Gladion was mouth first into Guzma's neck. Guzma's lips were tingling in Gladion's ears, and he begin to whisper something in a dark and seductive pitch "…You wanna get fucked, don't cha?"
Gladion responded instantly back directly into Guzma's ear, "Fuck me…please…"
Within seconds, Guzma and Gladion's dicks were connected. From there, Gladion's mind faded back into black, in the warmest, sweetest, and most validating ecstasy possible.