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It wasn’t often that the Boss of the Rust Syndicate took a day off. He of all people was aware of just how much there was to do for Lumiose and its citizens, both people and Pokémon. Unfortunately, he of all people was also aware of the dangers of letting the grime of the world drown out its beauty. So when he felt his teeth ache from clenching his jaw, and when the dirt and grime he refused to fear actually started to turn his stomach, he allowed himself to be led away from his desk. Philippe remained behind, stalwart and vigilant (though he pressed a Pokéball into Corbeau’s hand with a murmured request to “let him stretch his wings”), and Paxton led him out into the sunlight.
It was a bit jarring after the dim, tense air of his office. Corbeau took a deep breath as they walked, and as he did, he realized it was the first he’d taken all day. He made an effort to loosen his jaw and relax his shoulders; Paxton’s concerned glance softened just a hair.
They passed in silence through Bleu Plaza, through the side alley and down the stone stairs, and into the cool darkness of one of Lumiose’s many tunnels. The chatter of the city softened to a gentle murmur that offered a steady counterpoint to the ripple of water at their feet. Once they were out of sight, Paxton reached out and twined his fingers with Corbeau’s. Corbeau gave his hand a squeeze, and the grin Paxton sent him over his shoulder was soft but no less brilliant than the sunlight they’d just left.
Their footsteps echoed quietly through the tunnel as they approached the gate to the Wild Zone, shining and offering a steady, nearly-inaudible hum. They passed through it with the ease of long habit.
The low, dangerous rumble of an Alpha Pokémon reverberated through the tunnel toward them; Paxton’s grip tightened, just a bit, and Corbeau stroked a thumb soothingly over the back of his partner’s hand. Scolipede burst from her Pokéball in front of them, and Corbeau inclined his head to direct her forward. She strode forward without a second of hesitation, and even the Alpha Whirlipede paused at the sight of her stepping proudly into the sunlit courtyard.
For a stretch of moments, the two Pokémon stared each other down. Corbeau had no desire to start a fight with a Pokémon that was just trying to protect its home, but he knew Scolipede would never turn down a chance to test her strength. The Alpha Whirlipede gazed at her consideringly… then rolled slowly away.
Scolipede gave a huff, then trotted off after it; now that the initial tension had passed, Corbeau knew the two would enjoy the chance to spend time together. He tried to bring Scolipede here to stretch out and spend time with her family, but they didn’t make it as often as he’d like.
He and Paxton made their way to a tree tucked into the corner of the little space. The resident Venipede peered curiously at them, but they took their cue from their Alpha’s ease and didn’t approach.
Corbeau settled on the ground under the shade of the tree, legs stretched out in front of him, and leaned back against its trunk. He’d lost count of the afternoon’s he’d spent here, just like this.
Paxton flopped to the ground next to him and laid his head in Corbeau’s lap like he belonged there. (He did. Of course he did.)
Well. Corbeau revised his previous thought. Perhaps those endless afternoons hadn’t been just like this. This, it had to be said, was better.
Paxton was the one to break the silence.
“So how did you find this place?”
Corbeau took a moment to look around the sunlit space and let his mind trace back.
“When I was a kid—”
“Baby Beau, tearin’ up the streets,” Paxton interrupted, playful nostalgia in his voice.
Corbeau flicked Paxton’s nose with his free hand, and Paxton snapped his teeth shut on the air just below his finger in retaliation. Corbeau couldn't hold back his snort of amusement as he pressed his palm over his lover’s mouth. Eyes glittering, Paxton pressed a kiss to his palm. Corbeau rolled his eyes but of course loosened his grip, shifting enough to run his fingers gently over his partner’s lips.
“Shut it, you. And buy some lip balm, Arceus.”
“Nah, I know a guy.”
And when Paxton reached one hand up to curl with lazy confidence around the back of Corbeau’s neck, well, sometimes a direct delivery was most efficient.
Corbeau straightened again, moisturizer successfully transferred from his lips to Paxton’s, and continued.
“Anyway. When I was a kid, before I had jack shit, I figured out pretty quick that the tunnels were a good place for a quick escape if I needed it. And I needed it pretty often.”
Paxton gave a low hum, playful energy dissipating. His eyes searched Corbeau’s, flicking back and forth as if checking for injury. Corbeau let him look. He must have found whatever he was looking for, because he took a steadying breath, then reached up, caught Corbeau’s hand, and brought it to his lips. The affection and loyalty in the gesture burned like a hearthfire in Corbeau’s chest, glowing with the certainty of home.
“And look at you now,” Paxton murmured. Corbeau gave him his most dangerous snake’s grin, the smile of the Boss victorious, and Paxton grinned back like he couldn’t help it. (Good. That melancholy had no place here.) Paxton set Corbeau’s hand back in his hair, and Corbeau rolled his eyes but resumed his caress.
“It was Philippe, actually,” he said after a moment. His partner hummed in question. “I was running from him the first time I found this place. He didn’t like going down into the tunnels—he was tall, even then—so they were my only option, sometimes.”
It had been a closer call than he’d liked. Their chase was exhilarating, but part of the thrill was the very real danger of what might happen if Philippe caught him. Corbeau had never been under any illusions about how dangerous his once-enemy was, and he himself had been tiny, much as he’d hated to admit it. That strength might be Corbeau’s to command now, but then…
Well. It was a good thing Philippe had never caught him. (Caught him and held him, at least.)
“This wasn’t a Wild Zone then, obviously,” he continued. “But it was still tucked away, so Pokémon had the run of the place. Especially the Venipede.”
Scolipede looked up from where she was trying to nudge the Whirlipede into a race.
“Yeah, I’m talkin’ about you,” he called. She pawed happily at the ground and trotted over. “You were a tiny thing, then, eh?”
Scolipede snuffled at his hair, then at Paxton’s, and his partner laughed and squirmed away.
“Hard to believe she was ever tiny.”
“Still dangerous, though. She had decided she was going to run off anyone who came to bother her family, and she did a damn good job, too.”
“I’m sure she did,” Paxton murmured. Corbeau pretended not to notice the warmth of his gaze, or how his eyes were trained on Corbeau, not his Pokémon.
“I managed to convince her that all I wanted to do was hide, and she decided to let me stay. I couldn’t spend too much time in one place, but I came back here as often as I could and brought food whenever I could find it.” Those had been lean days, but she and the other Pokémon had given him shelter. How could he not offer anything in return? “Eventually, she started coming with me from time to time, and then she decided to make it a more permanent arrangement.”
“She knew you needed looking after,” Paxton said sagely.
Corbeau scoffed, a retort ready on his tongue—and Scolipede snorted directly in his face.
Corbeau blinked.
Paxton lost his shit.
Corbeau utterly failed to keep his stern expression in the face of his partner’s laughter. (He suspected he'd never be immune to Paxton’s joy.)
“I think she's settled it. You needed her.”
Well. Corbeau couldn't exactly argue with that. He contented himself with a huff. Paxton tilted his head back into Corbeau’s hand, and Corbeau obliged, once again carding his fingers through his lover’s dark hair and admiring the way it faded into the dappled shadows of the leaves above them.
—
Paxton felt it when Corbeau began to lose the battle against his fatigue. The hand in his hair slowed, stilled… then twitched and started again, only to slow and still once more. Paxton kept his eyes closed and his expression smooth. Nothing to distract his partner from the rest he so obviously needed.
He was a stubborn one, that Mister Corbeau. Expected only the best from his subordinates and even more from himself. As if he could shoulder the weight of a city all on his own.
To his credit, he got close. He was the figurehead and the heart of the Rust Syndicate in one—its leader, its guide, and its greatest motivator. His temper was legendary and his glare was as sharp as a blade, but those who stood in his shadow knew it was one of the safest places to be.
It hadn’t escaped Paxton’s notice, years ago, that the Syndicate was built like a fortress. High stone walls, impenetrable facade, guards at every entrance. That first time, he’d been an intruder—invited, but observed closely all the same. He and Lida had been on thin fucking ice, and they’d felt it crackle under their feet.
Paxton had been too focused on keeping Corbeau and Philippe in his line of sight during that first meeting to really take in anything else, but as he’d dropped by more and more often, that tension had eased and he’d been struck by the room itself. Cavernous, built to fit a dozen men closer to Philippe’s size than Corbeau’s—anyone in it felt tiny by comparison. The dim lighting made the glint of the artifacts so proudly on display seem somehow sinister. Wealth and power oozed from every corner.
The wonderful thing about Corbeau, Paxton privately thought, was how that first impression both was and wasn’t a front.
Corbeau was wealthy, and unashamed of it. But in his hands, that wealth was a tool. Money was power, and Corbeau wielded it well—but he used it in favor of others more than himself. The money he spent on himself—his clothes, the relics in his office—was in pursuit of his image, so vital to maintaining his reputation and therefore his influence. He knew the power of money, and he used it as leverage against anyone he chose—but that was the important part. He chose. And when he chose, he had a reason. Sometimes that reason was that the fucker deserved it. Sometimes it was that they had something that could benefit Lumiose. And if someone got in too deep, he could just as easily choose to give them a way out, though he always managed to do it in a way that left room for plausible deniability.
Corbeau didn’t hoard money. Money was a tool to be gathered and spent as the situation required.
Corbeau hoarded people.
Loyalty.
Luckily, that was something Paxton (and Philippe, and the rest of the Syndicate) had for him in spades.
Corbeau’s hand was still, and his breathing was even. Paxton eased his eyes open and looked up into the sleeping face of his lover, and for a moment, devotion roared like a wildfire in his chest.
Corbeau was beautiful. And dangerous. Deadly when he wanted to be. Criminals feared him; children wanted to be him. There was no one else like him.
And he was Paxton’s. And Paxton was his.
Paxton had never been so glad to be kept.
He loved the way Corbeau looked at him. With respect for his strength, but no fear. With understanding of his loneliness, but no pity. They were alike in that way, Paxton thought. Kept somehow apart from the people around them, partly by circumstance, partly by choice. It was easier—safer—for them to take point. They had the strength to handle it, and it kept everyone else out of the line of fire. But god, it was exhausting. So to see Corbeau at rest above him, glasses slipping down his nose, hair falling gently over his eyes, the tension holding his mouth in its habitual frown temporarily eased…
Well. That was what Paxton hoarded. The knowledge that someone saw him down to his core, past the image of the hero to the sharp edges he’d formed himself into, and entrusted himself to his care anyway.
—
The afternoon passed slowly. Easily. Clouds drifted by overhead, but the high walls of their little haven kept the breeze at bay. Skarmory circled high above them, content to ride the updrafts. Corbeau slept on, so when Scolipede got tired of taunting the Alpha Whirlipede into races or sparring matches, Paxton eased himself out of his partner’s lap to distract her. (He draped his jacket over Corbeau’s legs and left his hat in his lap. Hopefully that would be enough warmth and weight to keep him asleep in Paxton’s absence.)
They couldn’t have a real battle without waking Corbeau, so they simply chased each other around the courtyard in rudimentary games of tag and hide-and-seek. Scolipede directed the herd of Venipede that came out of the woodwork as if she were a general, with all the poise and confidence of her Trainer. Paxton didn’t stand a chance.
By the time sunset lit the sky on fire, Paxton was half-buried under a pile of victorious Venipede and content to be there. Scolipede was at his back, curled in a gentle half-circle around him and the mound of baby Pokémon. She lifted her head to gaze toward the tunnel, and in the same moment, Skarmory gave a screech of recognition and dived toward them. Paxton watched as Philippe stepped into the courtyard and surveyed it in silence for just a moment.
He wondered if Philippe was thinking about the past, too. About the time he’d spent chasing Corbeau around the city. When the frown on his lover’s face got a little too pensive, Paxton called out softly.
“This must be old news for you, huh? Following him here?”
Philippe’s eyes found his, and the smile that lit them turned the silver to sterling.
“Slippery little shit,” Philippe agreed as he approached. “Never did manage to catch him.”
“Want me to run him down for ya?”
A huff of laughter.
“Nah. I'll get him eventually. You look like you could use a hand, though.”
“Who, me? Never been better.”
A Venipede burrowed its way into his hair. Paxton held onto his poker face by a thread, and Philippe’s mouth turned up just slightly at the corner.
“I see. Well, let me know if my services are required.”
“Sure thing, babe.” Paxton winked, and the slight flush that made its way over his lover’s skin made it impossible to contain his smug grin. God, he loved flustering his partners. Philippe was a wall of iron against any and all threats, but sincere flirting took him out in a heartbeat. And for a man as magnificent as Philippe, how could Paxton be anything but sincere?
Skarmory, out of patience, descended upon his Trainer, and Philippe laughed as his Pokémon circled him to demand attention.
“Did you look after them? Didn't give you too much trouble, I hope…”
Paxton closed his eyes and let his lover’s voice fade into the soft sounds of evening in the courtyard. He hadn't been expecting trouble, exactly, but Corbeau had been asleep and depending on him. Now that Philippe was here, Paxton could relax, just that last little bit.
He listened idly to Philippe making his way around the little space, greeting the various Pokémon as he went. When his voice quieted, Paxton opened one eye and tilted his head to see Philippe settled next to Corbeau, leaning back against the same tree, head tilted back and eyes closed. Corbeau had already leaned sideways, letting Philippe support him without ever waking.
That, Paxton thought. The two of them. As perfectly matched as if they'd been made for each other. Or forged, more like, given what he knew of their pasts. Clashed against each other often enough that their rough edges molded the other to match. That was what had done him in. Corbeau’s cunning had been the spark that had caught his eye, and Philippe’s strength had held his imagination, but their devotion to each other was what had captured him for good.
He'd been content just to watch, at first. Just to see them together. There was no room for him, he'd been sure of it. The boss and his right hand man—and that was the end of the saying. No more to that sentence. How could they want more when they had each other?
But somehow they did, and somehow, impossibly, what they wanted was him.
As if to prove his point, Philippe looked up, caught his eye, and tilted his head to beckon him over.
Paxton was strong, but he wasn’t that strong.
He pushed himself carefully to his feet. Most of the Venipede scattered with little chirps, but the one in his hair held on as he made his way across the courtyard. He raised a hand to catch it in case it fell, but it was as stubborn as someone else he knew, determined to hold on under its own power.
Paxton lowered himself to the ground on Corbeau’s other side and raised his legs until he could cross them at the ankles and rest his feet on the trunk of the tree. The Venipede in his hair nosed curiously at its new surroundings.
The sunset faded, and the lights of the city rose around them.
—
“Boss.”
Corbeau frowned.
“Boss. Time to get up.”
“C’mon, babe. You napped the afternoon away.”
Paxton…?
“He’s right, boss. We’ve got places to be.”
Philippe.
Corbeau dragged his eyes open. His cheek was pressed into a familiar jacket, and another was draped over his legs. He could feel Philippe’s shoulder rise and fall with each breath, and at his feet, Paxton’s eyes sparkled in the lamplight.
“Time’s’it,” Corbeau muttered.
“After six,” Philippe answered.
What—he had not meant to sleep that long—
“Oh, cool it with the face. You obviously needed it. And besides—”
“—we had it handled,” Philippe finished. Corbeau twisted to glare at him.
“Not gonna let me get a word in?”
“Nope!” Paxton said cheerfully. “What’s for—ow, hey, careful—”
The smallest Venipede Corbeau had ever seen climbed up Paxton’s hair and over his face, making its way determinedly toward Corbeau and waving its antennae in an obvious challenge. Corbeau grinned despite himself.
“Jealous? I was here first, pal.” But he held out a hand for the Venipede to investigate. The little Pokémon paused on Paxton’s stomach, then began to climb its way up Corbeau’s arm.
“Gutsy little thing,” Philippe chuckled. The Venipede made it to Corbeau’s shoulder and tapped curiously at his glasses with its antennae.
“Aww,” Paxton cooed. “You have a mini-me.”
Corbeau peered under the frames of his glasses at the tiny creature.
“You callin’ me short?”
Paxton snorted. “Never. Just gutsy.”
“Fearless,” Philippe confirmed.
“He’s probably just desperate.”
“Well, he doesn’t need to be. We’ll take care of him.” Paxton’s voice had turned warm, and Corbeau ignored the answering warmth in his own cheeks. He held up a hand to the Venipede to guide it away from his shoulder.
“It’s not an easy habit to unlearn.”
Paxton pulled one hand from behind his head and rested it on Corbeau’s ankle. Philippe wormed one arm around Corbeau’s shoulders.
“Good thing we have time, then,” Philippe said softly. Paxton grinned.
“Yeah. And experience wrangling gutsy little Venipedes.”
Corbeau bent forward to set the little Pokémon on the grass, not-so-incidentally hiding his face for just a moment. His partners gave him that moment without comment, and he discovered that he could, in fact, love them more.
He straightened, then pushed himself to his feet, levering himself upright on Philippe’s shoulder.
“Alright, you two. Enough laying around. Time to get back.”
Two “yes, sir”s answered him, one a little more cheeky than the other.
This time, he couldn’t hide his grin.