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Frank did not promise with words.[break][break]

He promised with his mouth. With the way he pressed hot kisses against Damien's bruised lips, his narrow jaw, and the pale length of his neck. With the way he bit down gently on the sensitive junction between throat and collarbone.[break][break]

He promised with his hands. With the way he ran his palm along Damien's sharp angles, down to the soft belly that quivered at his touch. Down farther still, to what lay between the younger man's legs.[break][break]

He promised with his heart. With the way he embraced Damien, rocked together with him, brought them both to the height of heaven. With the way they came down after, skin shining with sweat in the morning light, breaths warm and soft against each other's cheeks.[break][break]

"I love you," Frank murmured, still tangled up in Damien's limbs, his head foggy.

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The vulnerability in Damien's voice, and the way he clung to Frank's arms, brought a frown to the silver-haired man's lips. He understood that his friend had finally dug past the anger and resentment to address his true emotion: fear.[break][break]

Specifically, fear of losing Frank again.[break][break]

Frank shifted, raising himself on an elbow so he could look down at Damien. If Damien allowed, he would turn the younger man's head with a gentle hand so their eyes could meet. His expression was deadly serious.[break][break]

"I'm never going back," Frank said emphatically. "And I'm never leaving you alone again."[break][break]

Then he leaned down and kissed Damien squarely on the mouth to seal the promise.

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When Frank received the invitation to dinner by one Malachi Decker, he did not know what to expect of the meeting. He did his research, of course; one wasn't a successful businessman without first the needs of potential clients.[break][break]

This Malachi, it turned out, owned a pharmaceutical company that produced goods for Pokémon. It wasn't one Frank had heard before; perhaps it was new to Hoenn, like he was.[break][break]

Dressed in his finest bespoke suit, Frank arrived at Le Petit Dratatin a few minutes before the appointed time, briefcase in hand. Upon entering, he eyed the interior, admiring his host's taste. The menu — which he'd perused earlier, naturally — had promised fine dining catering to expensive palates.[break][break]

The setting promised that Mr. Rathburne was a man of the same caliber.[break][break]

After giving the reservation info to the maître d', Frank followed the man to a private room. A single figure sat at the small table in its center. He approached the man with long, dark hair and flashed a winning smile.[break][break]

"Mister Rathburne, it's nice to meet you. I'm Frank Caffey."[break][break]

From his side of the table, he extended a hand for a shake.

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The way Damien drew even closer to Frank sent a thrill through the silver-haired man. He pressed the front of his body against the length of Damien's back even harder, hugging Damien to him as if he never wanted to let go.[break][break]

"Prison was hell," Frank murmured, a rare solemnity entering his voice as he flashed back to those ugly years. "It was dog-eat-dog the way finance isn't."[break][break]

Being the bottom dog meant being everyone's bitch. You ate like shit, slept like shit, and couldn't walk five minutes without being harassed. At least in the business, people didn't treat you like their plaything.[break][break]

Most of the time.[break][break]

"We had an hour of outside time in the exercise yard and workshops for building bird houses and shit. I read a lot to pass the time, if you'll believe it."[break][break]

He didn't know what else to say. It was difficult to describe prison to someone who had never been there. A clinical explanation of his daily routine wouldn't have conveyed the degradation of humanity that occurred inside the facility's walls.[break][break]

Frank buried his face in Damien's hair, wishing to forget.

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A young woman's voice distracted Frank from his horrible thirst. Looking up, he watched her leap from the back of an Iron Jugulis — not that Frank actually knew the name of this strange, metallic Hydreigon-clone — and land on the sand dune a few yards away.[break][break]

"Hey!" he shouted back, waving his hand. Thank Arceus, he wasn't alone! "Do you have water, by any chance?" Then, as if remembering himself, he flashed the woman a friendly smile. "Sorry, where are my manners? I'm Frank. What's your name?"[break][break]

So engrossed was Frank in his hope for salvation that he didn't notice the third person and his Aurorus had raced over. He jumped, alarmed at their sudden presence.[break][break]

"Shit, man, you scared me. What—"[break][break]

That was when Frank saw it. The sandstorm. His face paled and his eyes went wide.[break][break]

"Uh, I think we're fucked."

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"Sure!" Frank said, enthusiastic. "Let me see. I went with a Ranger and his friend, both of whom were really handy at defending us against a strange Pokémon. It was like a Cofagrigus, but twisted?"[break][break]

He shrugged, unsure how he was going to describe such a unique phenomenon.[break][break]

"It actually killed one of the Ranger's Pokémon, but somehow we were able to bring it back to life." Frank shook his head, still finding the experience difficult to believe, though he had witnessed it firsthand. "I'd never seen anything like it, Hazel. It was insane!"[break][break]

Suddenly, out of the sand popped a Wiglett. Frank's Malamar entangled it with WRAP to prevent it from disappearing back into the ground. A squeak of alarm alerted Frank to its presence. He threw a Pokéball to save it from further harm.

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The beginning. It felt like a lifetime ago, yet the memories were as vivid for Frank as the days they happened.[break][break]

He shifted so he could look Damien in the eye — properly. And then he began to talk.[break][break]

The arrest. Frank had been at home in his luxury apartment, the new one he'd bought after his divorce. The police had arrived with a warrant for his arrest. Confused and panicking, Frank almost refused. He knew better, though, and let them escort him to a car waiting on the street.[break][break]

He hadn't been the only arrest. His boss, his boss' boss — everyone in the company who'd participated in fraud, embezzlement, and money laundering had been rounded up. Like pigs, they were crammed in cells at Black City Police Department's headquarters. There were over a dozen of them, total.[break][break]

Frank thought the police would eventually let them go. Someone he knew had strings to pull — or so he told himself. But against everyone's expectations, even the media's, they went to court. Frank himself endured weeks and months of trials before he received his sentence.[break][break]

Ten years in prison.[break][break]

Jacqueline hadn't allowed their children to see Frank during the trials. It had crushed him, but it had crushed him more not to see Damien, either. But soon what Frank wanted didn't matter. He found himself in a jail cell at Black City Correctional Facility. He had to learn how to survive — and quickly.[break][break]

Frank was determined to get out of jail early on good conduct. He obeyed the staff as much as possible, did the work assigned to him, smuggled nothing, took no drugs. When the other inmates tried to bully him for his pristine behavior, he quickly learned how to assert dominance over them. He wasn't going to be anyone's bitch.[break][break]

The hard work and good conduct paid off. Frank's sentence was commuted to three years. "And now I'm here," he finished. His throat was parched, as if he'd been talking for hours. "Trying to start over."

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Acting casual was how Frank got through life. Everything was fun and games; serious matters remained unaddressed. Even the matter of the relationship he had with Damien had never been codified, labeled with something that could restrict Frank.[break][break]

Yet he loved Damien with all his heart — loved him enough to grant him whatever he wished. In this case, all the seriousness Frank could muster.[break][break]

He exhaled. "Okay. Where do you want me to begin? With the arrest, or after the sentencing?"[break][break]

Untangling the past three years was something he hadn't begun to tackle for himself. He wasn't sure how he was going to do it for another person.

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When Frank had heard one of the worlds beyond the rifts was a desert, he had not expected it to be like this: a tyrannical sun, oppressive heat, sand that got in every nook and cranny of his clothing. He'd thought he'd dressed well for the trip, but he was wrong.[break][break]

"So fucking thirsty," he croaked, lifting a water bottle to his lips.[break][break]

Unfortunately, only a sliver of icy water remained, just enough to wet his lips. Frank stared into the empty vessel, his stomach feeling like an empty pit. "Fuck."[break][break]

He shoved the bottle into a side pocket of his backpack and cupped his hands around his mouth. "Hellooooooo? Is anyone out there? Hello?" he yelled.[break][break]

But only the wind answered, kicking up sand.

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Frank chuckled at the admission. As Damien scooted closer, Frank wrapped his arm around the other man's torso to pull Damien against his chest. Then Frank buried his nose in Damien's hair, inhaling the scent of him.[break][break]

"Sorry," the silver-haired man murmured.[break][break]

He wasn't really sorry, though. He'd never really been sorry.[break][break]

"What's your plan for the day? Going to work? Or are you free?" Frank asked. Though he had no intent to rise from the bed yet, his mind was already hard at work preparing for the day ahead.

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When Damien shifted but did not turn to greet him, Frank rested his chin on the other man's shoulder. "You okay?" he asked.[break][break]

The previous night had been a whirlwind, a lust-fueled dance that fed a hunger long-brewing. Frank thought he wouldn't ever be satiated, his need for Damien growing with every grasp and soft moan. The angry, red marks all over the younger man's skin was a testament to Frank's appetite.[break][break]

The morning had brought clarity, however. His needs met, he could turn to more serious, important matters — such as Damien's well being. Because despite their relationship, he considered Damien a friend. His best friend.[break][break]

And friends help each other.

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Frank raised an eyebrow, intrigued by Nikkari's admission. But he did not comment, instead nodding his head as the other man offered to join a future expedition.[break][break]

"Sure. The more, the merrier, right?" He flashed a grin, even though he too looked toward the painting they had stopped beside. It was more of the same exoteric art Frank didn't really want to spend brain cells comprehending.[break][break]

After a beat, he reached into his pocket for a business card. One side of the card boasted Frank's business information: his name, his company (Caffey Financial Group), a phone number, an email address.[break][break]

He handed it to Nikkari. "If you ever want to reach me, give me a call or email. We can go over the details of a trip."

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Frank continued to smile pleasantly, undeterred by the interview-like questions he had prepared to hear. He reached into a briefcase he had brought with him and removed a manila folder with several reports he'd compiled.[break][break]

Handing it to Ophelia, he said, "I've prepared this for your perusal since I knew you'd ask. Not only will you find my CV, but also detailed reports with graphs of my work as a stockbroker back in Black City."[break][break]

He sat back and sipped his wine.[break][break]

"Caffey Financial Group may be new and small now, but I have a long history of work in the financial sector. I hope to bring that expertise to Hoenn and find opportunities to help business leaders here."

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