He hesitates, worrying, again, that speaking it out loud will either make it disappear or bring all sorts of bad ju-ju down on his head. Because this is kinda serious, you know? He’s basically admitting to going out of his way to change his life to be closer to Alex. That’s a big thing. And he hadn’t exactly talked about it with him before.

“I might be… up for a promotion soon,” he finally said, voice a cross between dreamy-hopeful and hesitant. “And-- and onions and ice cream are not the same thing.” Obviously, Guillermo, you stupid-head. He tried again. “Just because I put an extra onion in a recipe, I’m still only eating the one recipe. Not 62 different ice-cream bars.” It was said with achildlike petulance, and he fake-pouted for good measure.

He laid the doe-eyes on real thick. “You know my whole story. My parents were awful so I ran away and then I came here.” He shrugged, because it wasn’t a lie. There was a lot he was leaving out, of course, but it wasn’t a lie. “I’m not exciting.”

Alexei Ivanov
hot summer nights

☉

Alex looks like he might evaporate and turn to steam, switching a whole ass form of matter in this heat. The look he shoots Memo is just north of daggers.

“Eh, I’m used to it,” he said. Rolling his sleeves up to his elbows is the only adjustment that he makes to his ensemble. Alex, much to his surprise (pleasure?) begins to-- to strip. Holy shit, that was a visual Memo wasn’t expecting to get today. He’d only ever seen the man without copious layers of clothing on that one time.

“What, is it my birthday?” Memo quips, taking both offered articles of clothing. With practiced laundry skills, he folds the sweater and swings his pack round to slide it into a front pocket, scarf pinned between his chin and chest. Then he very carefully does the same with the scarf, making sure it isn’t crumpled or wrinkled.

By the time he was done, Alex’s Toucannon (who was apparently named Sam, oh my god, that was so corny) had aimed a nails-on-chalkboard screech up at part of the mountain. Pieces of stone cracked and tumbled to the ground.

“Close, but no cigar.” He rolled a Pokeball in his hand. “Here, let me help.” He step back and dropped it, releasing his Bastiodon, Careta.

Memo stepped closer to Alex. “Can you use Metal Sound on that bit up there, Caretita?” he asked, pointing to the square where bits of pieces of red and black basalt were still crumbling down. The dinosaur-like Pokemon groaned, couched her head-- Memo reached up and covered Alex’s ears-- before releasing a horrible, metal-on-metal noise, that sounded like a car crash, the power of it shaking the whole mountainside.

---

2x sound based moves - careta the bastiodon uses metal sound !

wearing

Alexei Ivanov

☉

His mouth goes dry and he forgets how to breathe, just, completely; his hands are moving without instruction, finding the spot under Alex’s right scapula that had made him come undone before; he presses at it with trembling hands, thumbs working the muscle down and away.

He bites his lip to stop a moan from accidentally escaping and he-- he needs to say something, because he’s going to die, he’s literally going to burn up and die, right here, on the towel, R.I.P Guillermo Marceliño, August 26th 1996 to Splashfest 2022, died of horny.

And before he knows it, he’s talking, and the words are more or less coherent, if a little breathier than normal:

“I-- Arceus, I need to. T-take a break.” He squeezes his eyes shut at how pathetic he feels, and before he can come up with a good excuse, it just comes out of him in a rush: “I’m too turned on right now and if I don’t stop I’mgonnadosomethingstupid.”

His hands are still moving, he realizes over the rush of blood in his ears. Amazing that he still has any to go there.

Alexei Ivanov

☉

He shrugged. “I’m pretty small potatoes, right now,” he said, letting his gaze drift off and out to the sea. “But the commander’s a good guy. The one who isn’t my cousin, I mean.” Then he laughed. “Well, Sénon’s good, too, but I don’t want people to think I got--,” oops, almost gave away the promotion, there, “--um, I’m doing well because we’re related. Nepotism is a bad look.”

The rustling of another package of frozen treats being opened brought his attention back to Alex. “Yeah, of course,” he said, half a snicker, “just don’t make yourself sick.” He’d never seen anyone eat as much ice cream before, ever.

He met Alex’s gaze, trying to keep a serious expression in the face of ice-cream-stuffed cheeks, like a little freezer pop chipmunk. He couldn’t keep himself from smiling, nose wrinkling.

“Yeah, of course,” he said, “I’ve been doing it for years now. Taking care of myself, I mean.”

Alexei Ivanov
hot summer nights

☉

Oh, god.

Doubling down was a mistake. This was getting to be too much. He was using entirely too much of his processing power to focus on not mouth-breathing like a creeper.

And then Alex--

Holy shit.

His fingers stilled once again as he had to squeeze his eyes shut and repress a full-body shudder because get your fucking head out of the gutter, holy shit.

“Alex, I--,”

He really should excuse himself. He really should. He was stuck in some horrendous, lecherous no man’s land where he didn’t really know how to do that (or want to, if he was being extremely honest), and also because he didn’t know if Alex knew the effect he was having.

Memo blinked. He had to know… right?!

Then the question of running was pushed out of his mind because Alex was telling him to do it again. So he glued his courage to the sticking place, made sure his hips were well back, and said, “O-okay, yeah.”

He’d worked his way down to the small of Alex’s back and hadn’t found anything super bunched up or knotty, so he ran one fingertip up the line of Alex’s spine and started from the top again, working with thumb, palm, and knuckles at the spread of his shoulders, with a little more force this time. If he really focused, he could ignore how stupid turned on he was. Mostly.

Alexei Ivanov

☉

Memo laughed; it came out both dry and light at the same time. “Only a little bit,” he admitted, feeling very small, indeed, in the face of current events. “It’s all up in the air right now-- no pun intended. Big brass is meeting with the HBIC and we decide where to go from there.” It wasn’t anything Alex wouldn’t know, he imagined.

He fake-pouted at Alex’s reprimanding strike, eyes puppy-dog bright. “But you the most.” Everything could be going one-hundred-percent perfectly and Alex would still have concerns to weigh him down. It was a wonder he got into the air, at all.

He opened his mouth to say that he had, at the very least, an inkling, of how much Alex worried-- about everything, not just the sanctuary-- but then he laughed, for real.

“Okay, I won’t tell you not to worry. But I can take care of myself.”

Mostly.

Alexei Ivanov
hot summer nights

☉