Fun at a Conference

If there was one thing Steven loathed more than anything else, it was being in love. He had experienced such emotions countless times before, and each time, he'd been disgusted at his tenderness. Being in love with another human being took away drastically from his collection of rare stones, and that was an infatuation within itself—caressing the smooth surface of gems, careful not to smudge their delicate sheen with his oily, tainted fingertips. He bathed in the feeling of triumph in obtaining a new stone, drowned himself, until the elation suffocated him. Pokemon training and battling made the same ecstatic rush pulsate through Steven as well, and that eagerness had propelled him through the Gyms and the Elite Four of Hoenn. It had been a true victory to him; one that made him strong and allowed him to quit digging so relentlessly into himself to find his true passion.

Love, as he came to know quite quickly in his adult life, was exactly the same. Yet it did not strengthen him—Steven found that he was utterly crippled by love and its sedative trance. Which was why he hated romance so much—it made him weak. Malleable. And irrational.

Especially irrational.

Steven remembered when he first really met Green, at the annual Pokemon Champions' Conference, a forum held for all living Champions and Elite Four members in every region, current or former. Each were allowed to bring a guest along, where they ate dinner with the champions and attended the speech of a guest speaker, who happened to be Lieutenant Surge's father that year. Steven had asked Winona to come with him, as she was an old childhood friend of his and owed him countless favors. Yet this was a favor Winona seemed glad to return, as she had always dreamed of being invited to the Champions' Conference, which was much more elaborate than the annual Gym Leaders' Banquet, as fewer people were fed and accomodated.

When they arrived, Steven dressed in a pressed suit and Winona in a white strapless dress that tightly hugged her ample breasts, Steven amused himself by observing who else the Pokemon League champions had dragged here. He found it to be a glimpse into their private lives that they otherwise withheld from the general public.

Flint from the Sinnoh Elite Four had brought the Oreburgh City gym leader, Roark, a reticent yet clever young redhead who specialized in Rock-type Pokemon. He had stashed his signature mining helmet for the occasion, leaving his sleek, full head of lush hair smoothed evenly, hanging low enough to dust the shoulders of his tuxedo jacket. Steven noticed that Flint was so close to Roark that their slim hips brushed together, nearly connected in a chain of skin as he regarded each milling individual with the protective eyes of a bodyguard. Steven figured that there was some sort of romantic—or at least lustful—attachment between Roark and Flint. Flint had changed, anyhow—he had once been cheerful and happy-go-lucky, like Phoebe back in Hoenn. But starting as soon as last year, Flint had clammed up and stared at the table, his eyes boring into the table. They were evidently angry drills.

What was truly intriguing to Steven was watching the great dragon master Lance enter with his usual pomp and circumstance, his "dress cape" flowing behind him with majestic character. Lance normally came alone, as he had within the window of past conferences, but this year, he was accompanied by a boy—a boy, indeed—that resembled Roark strongly in physical appearance, sans the scowl that painted his expression. Roark had been smiling coyly upon his entrance, unlike this child. This boy was dressed rather lax for the occasion, in jeans in a simple navy sweater. Steven saw that he was very thin for his age; not to the point of anorexia, but borderline. When Lance stopped at his table and discerned that the boy was shivering in cold that Steven wondered was feigned, a sudden look of concern shadowed Lance's handsome face. The Johto champion removed his cape and wrapped it around the child, embracing the much shorter boy to his chest, squeezing and rubbing kindly.

The motion seemed innocuous on the outside, but Steven knew there was an illicit relationship hiding beneath that blanket of Lance's cape between the two of them.

Then Steven scanned the room for him--and found him easily, ambling about by the punch bowl. His spiked, sandy-colored hair fell before one of his pine-green eyes as he assessed the room with evident boredom. Beside him stood the champion that had stolen his title—Red, the mute, with his black hair tucked beneath his red ballcap. They were the only two—omitting Lance's "friend"—that were not dressed formally. Instead, they wore what they did every day.

They never brought guests. They always arrived together, and left together. Back many years ago, when he was merely an ambitious child, Green had secured the title as the Pokemon League champion of Kanto—and then, an hour after the honor was bestowed, Red appeared, the Elite Four a smudge beneath his shoe. Red defeated Green, and only Gold from Johto had managed to defeat him in these last few years. Red, people said, was practically undefeatable. He was the God of Pokemon, destroying competition beneath his heels, grinding them to dust with his silent command of his Pokemon. Indeed, Red didn't speak—or, in truth, couldn't, but Steven was sure that even if he was capable, Red wouldn't say much.

Steven hated Red. Not because Red was "insuperable" or "the greatest trainer the world has ever seen," for Steven was sure he could demolish Red in battle without even batting an eyelash. Red was only a child, after all—sixteen. Surprisingly good at hiding his hormonal mood swings, but still sixteen. Steven had been training before Red was even born. There was no reason, on the surface, to detest Red—he was a perfectly respectable trainer and quite mature for his age, and did not provoke anyone unless they provoked him.

But Steven hated Red, driven by a motive that was unknown to all of Red's followers: He knew that when Red and Green slipped away in the midst of a Champions' conference, they didn't do so because they were simply bored. And that made Steven jealous as hell.

Green had Red. Steven didn't have Green.

Every year since Steven had become champion of Hoenn, he had been assigned to sit next to the famed Four-Minute Champion (as was his somewhat clandestine nickname amongst the other champions and Elite Four members), as Green never brought a guest with him—excluding Red, but Red was already formally a part of the forum. Steven would settle himself to Green's right, while Red sat to Green's left. This year, Green was especially attractive, Steven realized—his jacket hung a bit tighter on his frame, connoting that he had built muscle bulk. His khaki pants clung to his thighs, the pockets bulging with—

Absolutely not.

As the dinner commenced, Steven chained his rearing desires back, forcing away any sneaking looks that wanted to slip toward Green. Quickly, Steven ate, causing Winona to gape at his inability to use his table manners. "Chew slowly," she scolded in a hushed murmur, striking his hurried hand with her salad fork.

"Mmph," Steven said through a mouthful of filet mignon.

The speaker arrived following the after-dinner drinks were served—martinis for the adults, and mocktails for the younger champions. During the presentation, Steven had to keep his hands wandering over to Green, whose even emerald gaze was affixed to Surge's father as the elderly American lectured about proper conduct with children who came to challenge them. Provided to each champion and Elite Four member were pens and pads of paper for taking notes, but Steven used them for other means.

A third of the way through Surge Sr.'s speech, Steven slid Winona a message. I think
Lance knows how to handle young challengers.

Winona read the note and then glanced up across the room to Lance's placement, where he sat in very close proximity to his guest. Lance's arm was slung around the auburn-haired boy's shoulders,  resting comfortable on the back of his chair. The boy seemed interested in the seminar, as he leaned into the floor with his skinny arms wrapped around his middle, his gaze locked.

Frowning, Winona scribbled back, They could be siblings.

Lance's arm crept to squeeze the boy's shoulder. The boy didn't even twitch.

Does that look brotherly to you? Steven wrote.

Yes, it does. Steven could almost sense the scoff in Winona's penmanship.

You're blind, Steven said.

At that instant, Steven felt the sharp slice of paper rustle against the black fabric shielding his left elbow. He turned to see Green shoving a note at him, no longer jaded, his eyes now sparkling with mischievous interest. What are you two talking about? Green had written. We're not in high school. Steven stared at the note for a second, taking in the way Green's handwriting scooped and dipped in almost a feminine, effortless fashion. It wasn't at all choppy or resembling chicken scratch, like his own. The dots on Green's i's and t's seemed to swirl at the end, like Green had flicked his pen upward at the last possible moment.

Shaking himself awake, Steven replied, I'm finding Surge's speech almost preposterous to listen to, seeing who Lance brought to the conference.

Like Winona had done before him, Green checked out the area where Lance and the boy were seated, his mouth curling in a slight smirk. I know that guy, he wrote to Steven. His name is Silver. He's about a year younger than Red and me. Apparently, he stalked Gold to a serious extreme. Was his self-proclaimed rival, to my knowledge. Anyway, Gold kicked his scrawny ass one day, and Silver basically gave up the Pokemon League and went off to train solo. For a while, anyhow. Then he showed up at Lance's door.

Steven was actually hungry for this information. Why's that? He wrote. Winona, having been nudged out of the conversation, went back to paying attention to Surge Sr.

Silver wanted to learn Lance's habits, I guess, Green wrote. So Lance took him in. Not like Silver had anyplace else to go. I heard Giovanni from Team Rocket is his dad and disowned Silver for being "weak." Man, you can dump your kid for anything these days.

Lance just doesn't "take someone in," Steven observed. How did Silver manage to get in?

Green's answer wasn't particularly shocking, but it did disturb Steven a bit. On his knees, probably, he'd said. Haven't you heard about Silver and Lance? They're the biggest scandal in the Pokemon League right now. Everyone swears Lance has a teen boy fetish.

Why isn't anyone doing anything about it? Steven demanded.

Because it's Lance, Green wrote back solemnly. No one cares. Silver isn't being abused or sold for sex on the Internet, so authorities are turning a blind eye. Lance has a reputation to protect. Besides, as much as we all hate to admit it, without him, crime rates would be skyrocketing. Putting Lance behind bars is enough to set rape and murder and extortion free. The asshole's got a hero complex, but it's worth something. He's helped solve more cases than a licensed detective. They figure that as long as it keeps the creeps off the streets, they can let Lance be one in private.

Steven didn't respond for a while, listening instead to the deep drone of Surge Sr.'s voice and looked intently toward Lance and Silver, studying their movements that might suggest something under the table. Yet neither of them budged, too drawn in to the lecture—for a few measured beats. At least until Lance fathomed a pair of eyes on him and snapped his face up, shooting his dragon-colored glower around the room until he spotted Steven. The former Johto champion made eye contact with Steven, lowering at him so strongly that Steven felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.

Leaning back in his chair, Steven nodded at Lance.

Lance sneered.

Steven gestured toward Silver and smiled knowingly.

Lance narrowed his eyes.

Steven stuck his thumb into his mouth and popped his cheek.

Lance's eyebrows raised and his jaw dropped just barely, an open-mouthed stare consuming the dragon master's face. The sexual nuance became horribly clear to him. Closing his mouth, he speared Steven with one last angry glare before turning back to the speaker.

For a moment, it was blissfully silent, not including the rambling of Surge Sr., who had since changed his topic to something else not quite as amusing as the first. Then, without warning, Green burst into tiny snickers; not loud enough to disrupt the orator, but still audible to Steven. When Steven grinned at him, he saw that Red too had been watching Steven and Lance's exchange. His usually stoic expression had changed to one of meager mirth, probably about as humorous as Red every truly got.

Clearing his throat, Steven playfully scrawled another note to Green. I'm curious, he wrote. How are mutes in bed?

As Steven was jotting this down, Red swiftly grabbed a pad and pen and fluidly inscribed something on the top sheet. Tearing it off, he wadded it up and tossed it to Steven. Catching the bundle, Steven smoothed out the crumpled piece of paper and read what Red had written. Clearly, the Kanto champion had seen what Steven had been writing to Green, for there were two words printed on the pristine white page in a script that was almost textbook in its perfection:

We're excellent.

Steven looked up to Red, who was slipping him a provocative leer. Green scanned Steven's previous note, then leaned over to read Red's. Bending forward, Green motioned for Steven's ear with his index finger. Steven complied and Green whispered in the shell of the Hoenn man's skin, the sensitive breeze of Green's voice tickling Steven's earlobe with the caress of an aroused lover.

"He's right, you know."

Steven drew back and scrutinized Green's face, from the tip of his flat nose to his high hairline, and suppressed the urge to kiss the young man right then. "Where can I find one?" Steven joked quietly.

"We like to go out and have fun after this," Green said, referring to him and Red. "Wanna come with?"

Steven did a backward glance at Winona, who hadn't heard a word the two had been saying. Her powdery cheek was resting on one hand and her eyelids drooped, as if she were about to nod off.

Winona had Flying Pokemon. She could get back to the hotel without him; they didn't have to get going back to Hoenn until the afternoon of the next day. A night out couldn't hurt.

"All right," Steven said. "I'd love that."

Green's eyes twinkled. "Good," he said. "Red thinks you're hot. I admit—up close, you are pretty sexy."

Steven repressed the urge to grin. Yeah, maybe he hated Red, but he was in love with Green. He could take Red for one night if it meant even having to share Green. All's well that ends well, he decided. They were kids, but they weren't illegal, like Silver. They were able to consent to just about anything.

"That makes two of us." Steven spoke in an undertone, stooping beneath prying eyes just below the edge of the table. "Handsome." Reaching up, Steven drew one finger from the tip of Green's chin to the soft patch of skin beneath his jawline, as if appraising a horse. Steven felt Green shiver beneath his touch. His gaze shifting, Steven looked up to see Red eyeing them, the voiceless boy's dark, dirty grin growing wider with each interaction that passed between Steven and Green. It became quite patent to Steven then that he and Green wouldn't be alone.

But strangely enough, Steven wasn't complaining. In fact, he welcomed the idea of Red's presence.

And even more strangely, Winona didn't glance over even once.