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He looked a lot less impressive covered in rock dust and on the floor.
Breathless and exhausted after what felt like the longest day ever, Serena stared down at Lysandre, sprawled back against the wall in the remains of what had been his Geosenge Base. He was breathing, but his eyes were closed, and he didn’t seem to have any intention of moving anytime soon.
Serena kicked him in the thigh. "Get up."
Lysandre opened one eye and stared up at her, scowling, his expression twisted into something unattractive on his handsome face. It was the same expression he’d worn when he’d asked her to pick a button to end the world, like his rotten personality was finally showing on the outside. He bared his teeth.
She bared hers back and kicked him again. "I told you to get up."
"No." His voice was hoarse, no doubt from shouting and all the dust in the air. "I intended to die down here, and I mean to follow through."
Serena gaped at him. "I’m not leaving you to die here!" Lysandre closed his eye again. Apparently, he had no interest in messing around with her any more, after he’d spent weeks messing around with her. "I ran all over Kalos trying to stop you!" Serena kicked him a third time. This time, he grunted—only slightly. He still didn’t move. He was too big for her to move even if she tried, and her team was so tired after fighting his and all the rest of Team Flare that Serena didn’t want to rely on them, either.
So, stumped, she sat down on the floor, crossed her legs, put her chin on her fist, and glared at him.
Lysandre opened his eye again and frowned at her. "What are you doing."
"Waiting," she replied, glaring at him more. "I’m going to stay here until you get up and come with me. I’m not leaving you here."
Lysandre laughed, once, and closed his eye. He kept leaning against the wall like it was the only thing keeping him upright. As far as Serena had seen, he hadn’t been injured by anything, so she could only assume it was like... psychic injury, or something. Or he was just mad at himself. Or at her. Whatever.
It was quiet down there, under Geosenge town. There was the occasional rumble of rubble and rock settling, the spark and fizz of snapped wires and loose electricity, the emergency lighting flicking off and on randomly. Otherwise, the only sound was their breathing and Serena’s pounding heartbeat. She knew there had to be some way out—she could always Teleport if she had to—but Teleporting would be a lot harder if she had to drag Lysandre along. At least if she waited, someone would hopefully dig in down here to find them, and then they could get Lysandre out.
Unfortunately, the longer that they waited, the longer Serena had to get in touch with her body, since there was nothing else to do except stare at Lysandre, who was about as interesting as the wallpaper. His hair was full of dust, but otherwise, he was pristine. He didn’t even have the little cuts on his face that Serena did from when the ceiling had caved in. Nope. Still perfect.
She really hated him, sometimes. Especially right now, sitting here, trapped in a crappy gross hallway with bad lighting and full of dust. She really hated him right now. He was supposed to be a perfect chosen one all ready to make a better world, and what had he done?
As time passed, certain other things aside from how annoyed Serena was started to become more pressing, like how badly she had to go to the bathroom. At first, she ignored it, shifting and resettling because it wasn’t that big of a deal, she could wait. Except then time kept passing, and she kept sidling and shifting and feeling increasingly uncomfortable (and aware) of how badly she needed to pee. It went from a reminder to irritating to—
Serena pushed herself to her feet. Lysandre snorted, as if he’d been waiting for this all along. "Giving up? Surely you can see that there’s no purpose in remaining here."
"No," Serena snapped, hot and aggravated and uncomfortable, "I need to go to the bathroom. Where are your stupid secret evil base bathrooms?"
Lysandre frowned, his whole face frowning as he did so, forehead wrinkled up. "My what?"
"This is an evil secret villain base!" Serena tried to spread her arms to gesture as she said it, then immediately winced, regretting that decision. She dropped her hands back to her sides. "You must have evil secret villain bathrooms! Or at least normal bathrooms!"
Lysandre sighed. "We did, but they were in the service wing—the part of the base that is presently under several meters of rock. So, no. I doubt there are bathrooms of any variety that might be accessible. You should take advantage of your Pokémon and Teleport out of here."
"I can’t Teleport back in," Serena said. She took her hat off, fanning her face with it. "So you’d better come with me."
Lysandre’s mouth twitched for a moment into a jagged smile. "I appreciate the attempt at trying to coax me out of here, but no."
"I’ll make you."
"How?" He opened both his eyes now, sneering up at her. "Serena, you can’t move me. I refuse to take your hand or touch you, let alone your Pokémon, which means you can’t Teleport me out of here. I intend to stay here."
Well.
Serena didn’t have a good comeback for that. And she really did need to go to the bathroom.
"I’ll make you," she said again, her face burning. "I’ll make you, or I’ll... pee on you!"
"What?!" Lysandre sat up now, his cheeks flushed. "Serena—"
"I mean it!" Her voice cracked. "I’ll come over there and pee on you!" She took a hesitant step forward and whimpered, the pressure almost too much. Lysandre didn’t move away, staring up at her, mouth open like he meant to say something else but nothing came to mind. Serena took another step, emboldened by his non-response. "If you don’t come with me, I’ll—"
"I’m not coming with you," Lysandre snapped, his face flushing further. "And you aren’t—Serena." Serena had stopped right in front of him. She was blushing so hard her face burned with it. Lysandre wasn’t much better. She stepped firmly over him, her feet on either side of his hips. He was staring at her, his mouth still open, and he took in a shaking breath. "Serena," he said again, his voice low. "That’s—" He didn’t lift his hands to push her back. He didn’t say no. He just stared at her, unmoving.
"I mean it," she said.
"I know you do."
They still didn’t move. Serena stepped further forward, and Lysandre half-lifted his hands, as if to—push her away? To pull her closer? She didn’t know, because he didn’t touch her.
"I really need to pee," Serena admitted, feeling pathetic and miserable as she said it. It hurt, like she was a kid holding it at the end of recess because she didn't want to go inside two minutes early. She pressed one hand between her legs, squeezing down against it like that could make a difference. Lysandre wet his lips, staring at her discomfort.
"I can see that." His voice was deep and hoarse. "You..." he didn’t seem to have anything else to say, still staring at her. Serena whimpered. She was going to ruin her clothes. Lysandre lifted his hands again, hesitating inches away from her thighs. "May I?" He asked, voice low.
Not even sure what he was asking permission for, Serena nodded. Serena nodded, and then let out a noise she didn’t mean to as Lysandre grasped her thighs and pulled her over until she was standing almost completely over him and he was—he was staring right up her skirt. Her face burned, her throat tight, because she was so embarrassed and this was what she was afraid of all the time while roller skating.
He didn’t stop there, though. Lysandre pulled her closer, and then he pushed her skirt up, and then he—he. Serena gasped, covering her mouth with both hands, trying to block out what was happening, or that she was—no, it was happening, but also she, she liked it, the way Lysandre pushed her skirt away almost reverently, and then hooked his fingers in—in under the front of her panties, brushing against—against. Against her.
"I have a responsibility," Lysandre whispered, not looking at Serena’s face, his breath so hot it felt scalding against her. She was wet, and that made everything humiliating and worse because he could definitely tell, couldn’t he? "Your present situation is my fault. Allow me to solve it."
"I," Serena squeaked, and then his breath was hot over her—over between her legs, and he was breathing on her again, and pushing her panties even further aside, and his tongue was—he licked over her. His tongue was pushing past her folds and into her and it was so warm. Serena grabbed his hair, trying to hold onto something.
"Allow me," Lysandre said again, the words rumbling into her like thunder. He licked into her, deeper, and slid one finger inside her. It was so big, it felt like he was breaking her apart just like that, as he coaxed her to spread her legs, to straddle his face, his beard scratching the insides of her thighs. He licked over her again, wrapping his lips around her clit, and pressed his tongue—not as far down, this time, just below her clit, right over where—
Lysandre moaned, sucked hard on her clit, and pressed his finger up and forward, against his tongue from the inside. Serena squeaked, jerking over him, and came, her mind spinning, her knees shaking. If he hadn’t been holding her up with one hand around the top of her thighs, she might have fallen over, pressing up into his mouth as he coaxed her against him again, moaning into her. He just kept—licking, and sucking, and his finger was so big as he fucked her with it, the leather of his glove against her folds so much sensation she couldn’t believe it.
As the shock of her orgasm began to wear off, though, he didn’t stop. Lysandre kept going, still licking, tonguing under her clit against that spot that felt weird and uncomfortable. "Mademoiselle," he whispered, hoarse and wet. Serena cried out, doubling over him, digging her fingers into his hair to try to stay upright. "Let go."
For a moment, Serena didn’t know what he meant, and then she did, because he pulled his hand back from her thighs to take her hand from his hair and set it atop her abdomen, right above her public bone, where the ache in her bladder hurt most. He pressed down, Lysandre pressed Serena’s hand down, and his hand was so much bigger and hotter than hers that the warmth felt inescapable.
"No," she sobbed, shaking as he kept coaxing her, pushing a second finger in where she was so open she felt that ache, almost better—almost better or worse. "No, no, I can’t—"
"Please," Lysandre said.
Serena felt it all at once, building up and then—and then she was letting go, crying as she lost control and wet herself, only. Only it wasn’t herself she was wetting, because her panties and skirt were out of the way. It was Lysandre she was wetting, but he was so much larger than her that he could fit his whole mouth over her folds. He did, sealing his lips to hers, and he moaned as she peed in his mouth. Moaned, and kept moaning, swallowing her down.
Serena shook apart, the relief of release overwhelming, battling with shame and horror and embarrassment and desperate arousal as Lysandre kept fucking her with his fingers and drinking her dry, his eyes fallen shut. He looked as relieved as she did, letting her use him, licking her clean when she was done even though the sensation was too much and it started to hurt.
"Stop," Serena finally whispered, when she didn’t have anything else to give, pushing Lysandre’s head away. "Stop, please. Please."
Reluctantly, Lysandre pulled away. He blinked up at Serena, his eyes wide and dark, his mouth and cheeks and beard covered with slick and spit and—and other things, things that made her blush more than the fact that he still had two fingers inside her. "Apologies," he croaked. "Is that better?"
Serena nodded, not sure what else to say. She cleared her throat, and then winced as Lysandre finally pulled his fingers out from inside her. She’d never had anything that big, and it ached a little afterward. He licked his fingers clean, then pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket to wipe down his face. Serena stepped back, fidgeting to fix her panties and her skirt. Lysandre cleared his throat and straightened, grunting with pain as he moved for the first time since he’d brought the ceiling down, probably stiff.
"I believe I’ll go with you," Lysandre conceded, stretching his back and leaning forward as he got his legs under him. "You’ve convinced me."
"I have?"
Lysandre looked back at Serena and smiled. "You’ve convinced me there are better things to do with my time than stay down here." He held out his hand for her to take—it was his left hand, the one he’d had under her thighs. Not the one he’d fingered her with. "If you’d not mind helping."
Serena took a deep breath and grabbed his hand, tugging as hard as she could.
"Fine," she said, once he was upright, staring down at her. "But you have a lot of apologizing to do."