[Pokémon X&Y] Move Away From the Parade
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teamflareTitle: Move Away From the Parade
Fandom: Pokémon X&Y
Pairing: Professor Augustine Sycamore/Lysandre
Rating: G
Summary: It was an honest mistake. It didn't have to be anything more serious than that.
Notes: M/M to F/M cisswap/genderbend/however you want to call it. F!Augustine/M!Lysandre. Title is from The Age of the Understatement by The Last Shadow Puppets.
AO3 Link: Here.
He was the tallest man Augustine had ever seen. She considered herself a little above average, for a woman, and this guy was towering at least two heads above her, if not three. He had to be very well-acquainted with door frames.
Add to this his bright red-orange mane of hair and the broad line of his shoulders in his tailored suit, and you ended up with the kind of person who'd stick out in a crowd. Stick out he did, standing very straight near the entrance of his café with one hand behind his back while he greeted his eager customers. When he smiled, it only made the corner of his mouth twitch up a little, yet that appeared to be more than enough for most people.
By the time the flock dispersed, he looked a little worn out, his shoulders sagging slightly. He perked up when he saw Augustine, holding up his hand for her to shake as if they were in a business meeting.
"Professor," he said, his voice a low baritone that reminded her of a roar. "My name is Lysandre. I'm so very pleased to meet you."
She smiled at him. His hand was so big it swallowed hers nearly entirely.
"The pleasure is all mine. I've been looking forward to trying out your coffee. I've heard nothing but praise for it."
To his credit, she thought Lysandre at least tried not to look too smug about it. "You flatter me. There isn't much glory to find in coffee making, I'm afraid. Compared to someone like you, who brings so much good to this region, I'm merely an amateur."
"I didn't know you were a fan of my work," Augustine said. He gave her hand one last squeeze before letting go, and it made the top of her spine tingle. She blinked.
"Oh, of course," Lysandre said, his face taking on some colors as his enthusiasm overtook him. "Your research has proved quite fascinating. For someone such as you, and at such a young age as well–"
He went on and on, about mega-evolution, about her discovery of the fairy type – and how incredible it was for her to have stumbled upon it entirely by accident! – about her tireless dedication to the betterment of Kalos and the relationship between humans and pokémons, to the point that it was only once he'd set her up at a table and excused himself that she realized he'd never clarified what he meant by "someone such as you." A waiter, dressed in sharp red and black, came to deliver her a warm cup of café au lait, an offering from the owner himself. When she glanced toward Lysandre, standing once again at the door, he gave her a nod and a little smile.
She didn't even like milk in her coffee. Still, she nodded back and tried to drink it without grimacing. It was an honest mistake. It didn't have to be anything more serious than that.
It was, actually, a whole thing.
The worst part, in truth, was that he didn't even seem to be doing it on purpose. He'd become a regular at the lab just like she'd become a regular at the café, and he was always very polite and attentive and listened to her with a focus she'd rarely experienced from anyone else – and then they'd be going over a subject she knew by heart, and he'd say something that made it clear he thought he could teach her a new angle she hadn't considered before. At first, hearing him go over the history of Anistar City and the discovery of the property of the stones making up its sundial, she'd found it almost endearing. After a while, though, it had become downright infuriating.
They were sitting alone in the café, Lysandre having just finished brewing them fresh cups, when she felt the last string of her patience snap. He gestured to offer to pour her milk, and she shook her head so fast her neck cracked.
"I like my coffee black, actually," she said. She was fairly certain she'd already told him that at least once before. Maybe she was misremembering.
"Very well," he said, though he seemed oddly dejected. "I admit I didn't expect a lady such as you to enjoy such a bitter taste."
She managed to swallow her mouthful in time to avoid sputtering. "What, you thought women only like sweet and sugary things?"
It was the first time she'd called him out without attempting to soften it up first, and his reaction was much more satisfying than she'd expected: splotches of pink spread from his cheekbones to the middle of his face, bringing out the light dusting of his freckles. He cleared his throat, hiding his abashment behind the comfort of his own cup. It was ridiculously small between his hands. She tried not to let herself linger on that.
"Well," he said, once he'd finished drinking. He pursed his lips, clearly searching for the right words – and seeing him speechless was doing something to Augustine's brain that she definitely couldn't let herself linger on – and then gave up.
She scoffed. It was unkind, but the way he frowned at that made her want to do it again.
"You're really bad at this, aren't you?" she said before she could stop herself.
His brow furrowed further if such a thing was possible. "I beg your pardon?
"Flirting." He opened his mouth and stayed like that. His cheeks were still flushed; she wondered if it could spread to his neck, though she wouldn't have been able to see it with his cravat in the way. "Isn't that what we've been doing?"
"I," he said. "I'm afraid I don't know what you're talking about, Professor. If I've offended you–"
"Because I don't mind, if that's what we're doing," she went on, undeterred. This time, he closed his mouth, and though she couldn't hear it, she was sure he'd made his teeth click. "But you're really bad at it."
Lysandre blinked down at his half-empty cup, tucked between his broad fingers, and then back up at her. As Augustine held his gaze, his bright blue irises slowly faded into the deep black of his blown-out pupils.
"If you would," he said, the words coming out a bit ragged, as if they were being forcibly dragged out of his chest, "if you would teach me. Professor."
Augustine crossed one of her legs over the other and smiled.
Fandom: Pokémon X&Y
Pairing: Professor Augustine Sycamore/Lysandre
Rating: G
Summary: It was an honest mistake. It didn't have to be anything more serious than that.
Notes: M/M to F/M cisswap/genderbend/however you want to call it. F!Augustine/M!Lysandre. Title is from The Age of the Understatement by The Last Shadow Puppets.
AO3 Link: Here.
He was the tallest man Augustine had ever seen. She considered herself a little above average, for a woman, and this guy was towering at least two heads above her, if not three. He had to be very well-acquainted with door frames.
Add to this his bright red-orange mane of hair and the broad line of his shoulders in his tailored suit, and you ended up with the kind of person who'd stick out in a crowd. Stick out he did, standing very straight near the entrance of his café with one hand behind his back while he greeted his eager customers. When he smiled, it only made the corner of his mouth twitch up a little, yet that appeared to be more than enough for most people.
By the time the flock dispersed, he looked a little worn out, his shoulders sagging slightly. He perked up when he saw Augustine, holding up his hand for her to shake as if they were in a business meeting.
"Professor," he said, his voice a low baritone that reminded her of a roar. "My name is Lysandre. I'm so very pleased to meet you."
She smiled at him. His hand was so big it swallowed hers nearly entirely.
"The pleasure is all mine. I've been looking forward to trying out your coffee. I've heard nothing but praise for it."
To his credit, she thought Lysandre at least tried not to look too smug about it. "You flatter me. There isn't much glory to find in coffee making, I'm afraid. Compared to someone like you, who brings so much good to this region, I'm merely an amateur."
"I didn't know you were a fan of my work," Augustine said. He gave her hand one last squeeze before letting go, and it made the top of her spine tingle. She blinked.
"Oh, of course," Lysandre said, his face taking on some colors as his enthusiasm overtook him. "Your research has proved quite fascinating. For someone such as you, and at such a young age as well–"
He went on and on, about mega-evolution, about her discovery of the fairy type – and how incredible it was for her to have stumbled upon it entirely by accident! – about her tireless dedication to the betterment of Kalos and the relationship between humans and pokémons, to the point that it was only once he'd set her up at a table and excused himself that she realized he'd never clarified what he meant by "someone such as you." A waiter, dressed in sharp red and black, came to deliver her a warm cup of café au lait, an offering from the owner himself. When she glanced toward Lysandre, standing once again at the door, he gave her a nod and a little smile.
She didn't even like milk in her coffee. Still, she nodded back and tried to drink it without grimacing. It was an honest mistake. It didn't have to be anything more serious than that.
It was, actually, a whole thing.
The worst part, in truth, was that he didn't even seem to be doing it on purpose. He'd become a regular at the lab just like she'd become a regular at the café, and he was always very polite and attentive and listened to her with a focus she'd rarely experienced from anyone else – and then they'd be going over a subject she knew by heart, and he'd say something that made it clear he thought he could teach her a new angle she hadn't considered before. At first, hearing him go over the history of Anistar City and the discovery of the property of the stones making up its sundial, she'd found it almost endearing. After a while, though, it had become downright infuriating.
They were sitting alone in the café, Lysandre having just finished brewing them fresh cups, when she felt the last string of her patience snap. He gestured to offer to pour her milk, and she shook her head so fast her neck cracked.
"I like my coffee black, actually," she said. She was fairly certain she'd already told him that at least once before. Maybe she was misremembering.
"Very well," he said, though he seemed oddly dejected. "I admit I didn't expect a lady such as you to enjoy such a bitter taste."
She managed to swallow her mouthful in time to avoid sputtering. "What, you thought women only like sweet and sugary things?"
It was the first time she'd called him out without attempting to soften it up first, and his reaction was much more satisfying than she'd expected: splotches of pink spread from his cheekbones to the middle of his face, bringing out the light dusting of his freckles. He cleared his throat, hiding his abashment behind the comfort of his own cup. It was ridiculously small between his hands. She tried not to let herself linger on that.
"Well," he said, once he'd finished drinking. He pursed his lips, clearly searching for the right words – and seeing him speechless was doing something to Augustine's brain that she definitely couldn't let herself linger on – and then gave up.
She scoffed. It was unkind, but the way he frowned at that made her want to do it again.
"You're really bad at this, aren't you?" she said before she could stop herself.
His brow furrowed further if such a thing was possible. "I beg your pardon?
"Flirting." He opened his mouth and stayed like that. His cheeks were still flushed; she wondered if it could spread to his neck, though she wouldn't have been able to see it with his cravat in the way. "Isn't that what we've been doing?"
"I," he said. "I'm afraid I don't know what you're talking about, Professor. If I've offended you–"
"Because I don't mind, if that's what we're doing," she went on, undeterred. This time, he closed his mouth, and though she couldn't hear it, she was sure he'd made his teeth click. "But you're really bad at it."
Lysandre blinked down at his half-empty cup, tucked between his broad fingers, and then back up at her. As Augustine held his gaze, his bright blue irises slowly faded into the deep black of his blown-out pupils.
"If you would," he said, the words coming out a bit ragged, as if they were being forcibly dragged out of his chest, "if you would teach me. Professor."
Augustine crossed one of her legs over the other and smiled.