Meanwhile... (Arro's Tale)

-You Are Arro The Vaporeon-

Countless golden droplets scatter to-and-fro across the ever roiling surf, appearing just as if thousands of fire dappled gems decided to join in your quiet swim. Rich ocean air, sweet and savory as the first breath you drew all those years ago, harmonizes perfectly with the fading sinking brilliance of a late afternoon sun. The gentle current tugs playfully at your toned legs as they lazily work to keep their owner afloat, allowing you a grand view of yet another pristine sunset. For the few occasions that a coming wave might think to steal the scenery, a single flick of your powerful, pronged tail is more than enough to keep your torso above the undertow.

Still so much beauty… in spite of it all.

The thought nestles warmly in your bosom, denying the dreary sentiments of recent days along with the much more real chill from the coming night. It had hurt the worst just after you’d bid farewell to that adorably hopeless Sneasel nearly a week ago. Years of sparring (and not always physically) with Lyra had made the mask you wore near perfect as he’d accepted your parting embrace, not wanting to ruin the moment. The heartache hit like a tail fin to the cheek once you’d begun the journey though. The quiet, three day swim to the secluded reef gave plenty of unwanted time to feel the full impact of Jona’s loss.

There were even times that you’d seen a particularly breathtaking sight below the cresting waves, the thought of sharing it with your companion began to form, before cold, uncaring reality returned. You were thankful for the assignment to the rearguard. Along with the clear, undiluted waters of the deep, they hide well any tears one might need to shed. Thankfully, the trip went smoothly as it could’ve, with not a ‘mon or a possession lost to sea or foe. A small mercy in the grand scheme, but one that was sorely needed for the survivors of Cove Crest.

Now, having done your duty as your chieftain had asked, you find your days filled with uneventful patrols and unsatisfying harvests for supplies the reef did not need. This ancestral reef was a tightly kept secret, days away from any source of fresh water and impossible to stumble upon without days of rations and more than a little blind luck. Once found, however, the reef was in every sense of the phrase a ‘tropical paradise’. A ring of ancient reefs formed around the verdant island hideaway, shielding it from the worse the sea had to offer. White sand beaches made for relaxing hours spent under the baking sun, allowing for easy access to the shallows for fun and a quick snack. Further inland, a vast expanse of tropical tree life could be found. Tall and unyielding in the harshest of storms, many these frond topped trees offered an escape from the heat along with a veritable slew of berries and nuts to those that enjoyed a good climb. Further still could be found the aged stone huts and mud bricked homes for those who sought some privacy. Most of the structures were longer lived than Lyra herself and always available to whoever needed them. Rare was it for the prebuilt abodes to be fully booked as most were happy to lay under the stars with only a warm body or two to stave off the modest chill. Truly a haven for lost souls, this place. A more heavenly getaway one could seldom ask for…

Yet it was not home for you, the lone Vaporeon who had failed to protect his village. The ‘stalwart champion’ of Cove Crest who had lost a dear friend to the virus, and had nearly lost his beloved chieftain to that very same day… A bemused huff escapes your sullen lips as you recall needing to be rescued from your own doom by the grace of a newcomer. You’d always be thankful for Kale standing his ground before that towering infected, of course… but…

Gods.. am I so weak..?

And there it was.

Ever since the loss of Your Oshawott friend, the pain left by her infection had colored nearly every waking thought. And now, as always, this otherwise gorgeous afternoon was soon to fall headfirst into that ever present quagmire of withering guilt. You don't even fight as the wave hits, alternating memories both fond and frightful, of Jona and of your service to the cove do battle for control of your mood. It is a short bout, your failures sending the good times into full retreat just as expected. Your head slowly dips into the sea's gentle embrace, leaving only your sullen gold orbs above the briny waters.

*Ppblblgul..*

The bubbles disturb the surface in front of your face as a long, muffled sigh escapes your smooth chest. The gloom circles faster now, thoughts of how you could have acted differently that you might have saved those you’d let down threatening to drown you in a way the waters could never. What a poor sight you must’ve made this evening. Head fin lopped over to the side, eyes hung low in defeat… Yes, you’d make quite the soft target for any hungry eyes that might be prowling within the waves.

Unfortunately for you, there were…

“Practicing your ‘bubble beam’ I see…” The voice, as unexpected and so lost in thought as you are, might have gotten a flinch out of you. The bold, though no less melodious, tone of Chieftain Lyra could not be mistaken even on your worst day. Though this last week surely ranked amongst some of the lowest, it was hard to reject the warmth she so effortlessly seemed to carry with her. When you don’t immediately respond, she takes that as an invitation.

“And here I thought you’d moved on to more advanced techniques.” The tease puts a sizable crack in the dreary walls your mind had built. You turn to see her coy smile, obviously daring you to accept her challenge of words. Damn her...

She knows you too well.

“Naturally, Ma’am!” You cheerfully chirp, hoping to hide your mood with a wry grin of your own. “Someone must maintain a good grasp on the basics. Just in case you need advice on something OTHER than punching~.” You let a few teeth gleam in the fading sunlight as you flash that iconic Arro smirk. Her eyes narrow a bit and her own smile tightens just enough to let you know that the game has begun.

“How kind of you to offer, Arro~ Though I seem to recall a single ‘punch’ was all I required to put down that Quagsire. How many did it take you AND Kale, I wonder..?”

That got a slight curl of the lip from you. Time to take it up a notch.

“True enough, dearest Chieftain. It must be heartening for the whole village to see you ever in top form. I only pray that I inspire them half as much as you do at your age~”

To her credit, she keeps her smile at full capacity, though you’re certain you saw an eyebrow twitch. With a swirl of her unseen tail, she closes the gap leaving only a couple feet of water between you.

Looks like she came to play this evening.

“And I hope you do indeed make it to this ripe old age, my ever stalwart protector. If I might offer some advice, you should invest in a bodyguard. Some foolhardy young thing that’s eager to please.” Though you’re certain that it is a trick of the dimming light, Lyra’s eyes seem to darken as she inches closer. Now with her towering over you, it’s difficult to maintain the façade that you’re okay, especially when she adds, “Perhaps a slender, blushing Sneasel~?”

You knew she hadn’t meant it, as this was a game that the pair of you often played (Usually resulting in your undisputed victory), but that last comment hit hard. Though it was obviously a bit of payback for your cheap shot at her advanced years, the mention of Kale had allowed all those feelings of inadequacy to come rushing back. You’d likely have fallen that day if not for him, and if you had, how many more innocents would have died or been turned due to your weakness?

You can no longer match her gaze, eyes falling from hers as you turn, allowing Lyra to take the win. It occurs all too late that the mask has slipped and you’ve given Lyra license to worry. A small, cynical part of you hopes that she might miss the obvious and just take the ‘oh so rare’ conquest over the reigning champ. The ever perceptive chieftain offers you no such mercy.

“Forgive me, Arro… I spoke without thought. I didn’t mean to imply-”

“Nothing to forgive, Ma’am!” Your response is quick, too quick, as your face snaps back to hers. Brow cocked and lips curled into a wry smirk, you beam up at her, a porcelain smile to counter her sorrowful expression. The woman has more than enough to worry about, you decide, and you dare not add a gloomy Eeveelution to that list. “I am simply taken aback! Your ‘witty repartee’ was beyond me this time.”

Lyra remains quiet, unmoved by your hollow gesture despite your continued praise. Nevertheless, there is nothing to desire more than to be out from under the weight of those crimson eyes and their stoic regard. So on you spin, some short-sighted notion that she would leave you be if only you just kept the compliments flowing prodding you along. The merciless Milotic had other plans for you…

“Such mastery of the tongue our little games have inspired in-”

“... Don’t do that..” The softness of her tone, normally never a problem for the imposing woman, is barely audible against the roiling waves. It crashed against your performance like a boulder to the face all the same. You stammer your words, allowing her to continue.

“Don’t push me away, Arro…”

Again you turn from her, hastily erected façade dashed in an instant under her hurt expression. The waves roll on, their eternal roiling magnified by the break in words. It stretches on for a time, neither of you willing to lend truth to the accusation. Idly, your eyes wander far from your matron and the blissful serenity of the ancestral reef beyond her. They peer out into the unknowable horizon, across the foaming sea and back to the Cove you’d lost to the infection. Your mind is again plagued by the loss of friends both old and new and the urge to weep begins to tighten your breast..

“... I failed her… I failed all of them..!” It is impossible to hide the venom in your voice, mournful woe having lost the contest with self-loathing. How many years have you spent honing your skills? How many years have stood resolute in defense of Cove Crest, protecting it from the ones who meant her harm? Bandit gangs, rogue traders… all of whom that threatened your beloved home had found justice by either your mastery of the waves or the ravenous grumbling of your gut.

But this new threat, this… infection… it wasn’t something you could beat into submission or intimidate into fleeing. The virus bearers didn't know defeat, didn't flinch when their comrades fell. They always returned.. stronger, faster, hungrier… In the few months you'd spent rebuking these feral Pokémon from your home shores, you've come to know the depth of their growing might. It was vast and unknowable, and shone a harsh light upon your own limitations. What victory was there to be found against such a foe?

These dreary thoughts are driven from you as two smooth, muscled arms wrap your torso, and the soft weight of your elders bosom presses into your back. The beginnings of a blush warm your cheeks as Lyra’s bare chest, formerly hidden beneath the waves you realize, smush against your smooth skin as the hug is joined. Though the woman had never been ashamed to bare herself casually, such was the norm for most of the inhabitants of the Cove, you'd been no less caught off guard due to your ceaseless inner turmoil. When she notices that there was no quip nor sarcastic remark forthcoming, Lyra speaks.

“I remember the first season, all those moons ago, that the Cove saw fit to test me with their nomination. With their former defender sorely in need of a well earned retirement, they brought before their chieftain a smooth talking fox, freshly evolved and supremely confident in their abilities. Questioning my decisions, believing in their own infallibility.. I was of the mind that I had, in some past life, somehow earned the gods ire for the student that they had bestowed upon me…”

The pressure builds as you feel her powerful arms tighten their embrace, the velvet warmth spreading further up your back. You've heard this tale before, the impetus ‘know-it-all’ you'd once been forever remaining a source of shame. Though you'd eventually see the light, due in large part to the saint-like patience of your mentor, it would always hurt to recall how you'd once treated her tutelage as little more than an annoyance; as an out of touch traditionalist desperately clinging to her irrelevant ways.

How wrong you'd been…

“However…”, her voice, though just a whisper now, resonates deep within your chest, each word sending tremors though the icy shell that squeezes your heart. “Despite initial misgivings…” The afternoon glow grows darker as your chieftain is felt to lean forward, the soft spines lining your headfin running along her silky skin as she rests her chin upon your crown. “... I have never once doubted your commitment to clan and Cove.”

A gentle nuzzle caresses your forehead and the ice begins to melt. On most days, you live for such praise. Tempered as it had been in recent years, your ego was always hungry for even the most paltry of boosters, ravenously devouring them once offered. The gloom of failure is strong this day though, and wouldn't give you up easily.

“.. But the people.. I was meant to protect them.. Protect their home!” A velvet cheek silences the self-deprecating thoughts, nuzzling from chin to temple as your mentor continues to ensnare her pupil.

“And they are forever grateful.” Her arms continue their work, one keeping you pinned to her bosom, the other slipping lower to caress your abdomen. Despite the miasma of dour emotions, the gentle ministrations of your beloved matron begin to have an effect on mind and body alike.

“Possessions can be replaced so long as the people find salvation. And you, my dear Vaporeon, have saved so very many.”

“...but I couldn't save her..”

At this, your chieftains grip falters, those sleek swimmers muscles going slack as you invoke the loss of your Oshawott companion. The dreaded silence returns and this time not even the waves, in their eternal march, can break the tension. Watching a pale eyed Jona hiss with fury at those she’d loved and laughed with as if they were nothing but meddling strangers… it hurt you in a way you’d never been hurt.

Memories of better times flood your haggard mind, of the once bright and ever energetic otter that never had a problem keeping pace with a timid young Eevee, newly arrived with a fresh wave of settlers hoping to make the Cove their home. Right from the jump she had challenged you, pushed you to break through concepts like the limitations of species, outright demanding that you learn to swim before you’d even finished moving in. It didn’t stop there of course, and soon you found yourself pressed into coral collection, aquatic farming, and even spear fishing, her cocksure, endlessly sarcastic attitude rubbing off on you all the while. As the years passed, the pair of you became inseparable. Each day became another chance to prove your superiority over the other. Harvesting the most fish, swimming the furthest from shore, skillfully weaving playful digs into compliments, it didn’t matter. All was fair game and all was in the service of one-upping the girl who’d dragged you into her world.

Eventually the day would come that you’d be graced with the gods blessing, your form shimmering with bright light as it molded into a shape best suited for your seaside lifestyle. Oh the fun you’d have at Jona’s expense, having evolved before her. She took your first smug salvo with typical mirth, shooting back that you’d better enjoy the new assets while you could before she caught up once more. The cove would celebrate your evolution as was customary, suspending work and chores for a great bonfire and beachside soiree. It was a fun time but eventually the partygoers would retire as the night stretched on, eventually leaving only the two of you to keep each other warm beside the smoldering remains of the once great pyre. No words were exchanged; no teases or taunts, no eloquent clash of verbal sparring. Just two likeminded pokemon that became more than just friends that night…

These happy moments are stolen from you when again those heavy arms constrict. Lyra’s supple breasts are felt slipping up your back as a great exhale is heard from behind. There is a gentle tug as the great woman leans back, reclining amongst the waves. The motion is unexpected though you do not resist the pull, allowing yourself to be brought along for the ride, exposing your front to the rosy sky above. As you lay atop the mighty woman, her arms wrapped about you and sea soaked breasts enveloping either side of your sullen face, her uncharacteristically tender words reach you.

“I miss her too…”

Her voice, so meek so.. alien coming from the one who'd stood firm and unbowed for a century… it pulls at something deep within you. You vaguely feel her powerful legs begin to kick slowly, rhythmically at the waves, gently propelling your joined forms through the water. For a time this quiet inverted swim goes on, you staring into the heavens, Lyra searching for the right words. Eventually, she finds them.

“...Loss is never easy, Arro. I know you hurt… and you are right to hurt for her. That pain is the price we pay for the joy we bring to each other. It is a measure of how much you meant to each other… The pain that is left in its wake will never leave completely, though…” her arms squeeze tighter with every sentence, “..it does fade in time.”

Deep down, you know she speaks truth. The fresh wound makes it difficult to accept though, and bitter numbness curls your lip, freeing a few fangs as you hiss..

“When..?”

Lyra must have caught the venom in your voice because her next approach is far more direct.

“When we accept the past for what it is…”

There is a subtle intensity to her tone now, the soft language abandoned and in its place the firm authority that has seen the cove through countless hardships. She saw the coming spiral that had held her beloved champion since the incident, now once more threatening to cloud your spirit. She would not let it have you this evening.

“When we forgive ourselves for stumbling with the promise to learn from each failure.”

The word ‘failure’ bites hard, though the quiet fury of your matron's rebuke keeps your attention squarely on what's been said. The strength of the arm holding you to her chest is bordered on the extreme now, burying your head between her voluptuous breasts.

“... And..” That single word is drawn out in a low, sultry whisper; a complete reverse of the magisterial pronouncement you’d grown accustomed to during her many lectures. A sharp inhale slips past your teeth as her free hand wanders a bit too low to be considered an accident, her other still wrapped tight about your chest to deny any attempted escape. Her hand cups your genital bulge, slender fingers dancing across the aquatic slit that only just manages to keep your hardening shaft from spilling forth.

“.. When we know to savor those small bits of joy when they happen by~”

If there was any doubt to the meaning behind her playful remark, the lone digit delving into your slit to tease at your hidden tip dispels it in a heartbeat. Breathing quickens as you feel the heat rush to your head, your reddening cheeks burning the hottest of all. Reflexively, your own hand rushes to grasp at the wrist of her fondling paw, not to resist (though she would likely delight in your attempt), but to steady yourself against the coming tide.

It would be far from the first time you’d shared some warmth with your chieftainess, as those first few years had sparked another kind of battle of wills between you. Though different from the ones you’d shared with dear Jona, these private contests with Lyra had been just as intense. It would appear your mentor was once more challenging you to such a tryst and, despite everything, you knew you needed the distraction just as much as she. Your grip on her wrist softens, allowing you to reach upwards to the sea slickened teat smothering the right side of your face, kneading it within your palm as the cocky grin begins to crease your lips.

“Is that an order Ma’am~?” The usual tenor of a Meowth playing with its Rattata meal has seeped back into your voice, signaling your acceptance of this latest challenge. You feel her scaly muzzle plant a small peck atop your crown before withdrawing to growl softly at your ear. Lyra’s response is immediate, breathy, and without a drop of shame.

“You are so ordered, my Champion~”