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One mistimed step from Nate is all it takes to throw Rowan off balance and send him careening to the ground. Nate catches him, but the caracal can't continue the dance-maybe if they were doing a simpler dance that didn't involve pirouettes. They excuse themselves off the stage and don't bother seeing where they placed. Instead heading to the hotel.

Rowan can walk well enough, so the journey is quiet and contactless. The inteleon wants to apologize, but he struggles to invent another excuse for his spacey-ness. And reusing an old one only annoys James and Rowan more. They know it's deeper than fatigue and he can't write it off as a one-time mistake anymore.

James is awake when they return. An ill tiding combined with the inteleon's pokedex in front of the leafeon. "So, are you going confess yet?" Rowan asks with a strange look in his eyes. "James went through your history, your messages. Just come out with it already."

When Nate doesn't say anything, James says, "I knew you were looking for something and thought we could help you if we figured out what. But I didn't think it was this. You could start with why we're in Paldea."

"It's prett-"

"Arceus!" The caracal advances on Nate. "It's not that pretty. What's pretty is her, right?!"

The inteleon shrinks back to the wall. "I love you, Rowan, but-"

"BUT?! There's not supposed to be a 'but!'"

The leafeon hops off the bed and stands between them. "Let him finish."

"What she got that I don't?! A cunt? A cape? What is it that makes her better than me?!"

"She's not better-"

"You tracked her for weeks to fuck her! Meanwhile we haven't fucked since Arceus knows when."

James stops the caracal's attempts to get in Nate's face. "We won't get anywhere if you don't let him speak."

"I haven't mated with her."

"You were going to!"

"I was going to talk to you first."

"And if I said no?"

"I..." Nate didn't think of that. Why would Rowan say no if he understood why? "I want hatchlings."

"What?" The caracal looks to James.

"You would call them kittens," the leafeon translates for the first time in over a year. "He wants offspring."

"That's why?!" Rowan steadies himself with a deep breath, then rushes to the door. "C'mon James."

Nate is left alone. Was that a breakup? Were they ever mates to begin with if they never had hatchlings? Why can't he fall in love with a female instead?

Resisting the temptation to break his pokedex, he messages the trainer of the meowscarada that the deal is off. He still wants hatchlings, just not by himself. With no more reason to check his anger, the device becomes dust in his hand. He should have talked to Rowan about it first, but finding a meowscarada was something he gave up on. He was searching out of habit more than anything else.

The caracal left only one thing behind: the inteleon's pokeball. If that's not a breakup, Nate doesn't know what is. A now-uncertain future weighs on him as he examines his ball. It hasn't been used since they climbed Glaseado Mountain. Inside, time slips away like an unattended hatchling. He could (should) pay attention to it, but he doesn't have to; he can let it pass him by.

Nate recalls himself.

*

"That's a James move, sulking in your ball."

The inteleon appears in front of the caracal. Who is holding a vial covered in warning symbols and small text.

"That's what he's doing right now. Since I'm giving you all the attention." With his free paw, Rowan interlocks his fingers with Nate's. "You're an idiot, but I'll forgive you if you apologize."

"I'm sorry. I didn't-I want you more than I want hatchlings. Are we still boyfriends?"

"Yes, you can thank James--he used every play in the book to convince me--but that'll have to wait." Nate's hand is tugged onto the caracal's hip. "Did you know they've made it possible for any pokemon to breed with any other? And then, because of the lack of females, made it possible for males to breed with each other? Then recently, for pokemon to breed with anyone, regardless of species or sex? Course not because you're an idiot." He uncorks the vial. "We're broke now, but I only need a little because of my size. Maybe we can do this again."

Rowan sips the purple liquid, recorks the vial, and sets it on the nightstand. "You'll have to do me anally, but I promise it's fun. And, as part of your recompense, you have to dom this time."

"'Every play in the book' means James told you," Nate lifts the caracal by the scruff with one hand, while the other draws his knife, "you get to mate the way you want finally."

Rowan dangles like a kitten being carried by their mother. "Maybe."

Anal never appealed to the inteleon. But his reluctance is gnawed by the overpowering and subtly different scent of the caracal. He throws him face-down on the bed. "Same safe word as always?"

Rowan shifts to a more comfortable spot on the bed. "Surprised you remember we have one."

"No more lip out of you." Nate whishes the knife through the air.

"Make me."

The inteleon straddles Rowan and lifts his shirt. At the sound of cutting, the caracal complains, "I just said we're broke. I can't buy-" His breath hitches as the inteleon allows the blade to graze flesh.

"Then stop wearing them."

The loose shirt is cut off easily. For some reason, though, the caracal decided to wear jeans. Harder to cut and requiring a steady hand; a mere centimeter of shake would damage something valuable. At least the boxers underneath rip from only his fingers. Finally, his fur is bare as it always should be.

"Purr," Nate commands, "and swivel your ears about." Neither occur, so he hotdogs his black cock between the sand-coloured cheeks. "Good kitties get their treat." That gets him rumbling and those ears dancing. The inteleon rests a hand on the caracal's back, letting the sound pass through him.

Before he's had his fill, Rowan stops purring. "Please, fuck me already."

"If you can't speak while purring, shut up." The knife tip plays with the now-still black tuft. "I gave you an order, fulfill it." Vibration courses up his arms again and the unthreatened ear flits around. "Good kitty."

The caracal's beauty mesmerizes the inteleon, making him lose track of time. Until glistening catches his eye. His own cock, the middle of it, so it can't be pre or slit-fluid. Rowan must have prepared himself beforehand. However, when Nate gathers more of it from his tailhole-temporarily interrupting the purr with a squeak-and sniffs it, it smells natural and bears the new layer of his scent. Arousing, and some type of lubricant as his finger sinks in like it's moving through air. The tunnel clenches and Rowan pushes back, making removal difficult.

"No, give it back," Rowan mewls, ending his purr.

"Bad kitty." The inteleon sprays his head with water from his fingertip. "I didn't say to stop." The caracal resumes. "Better. Now roll over."

Rowan's pink member comes into view, soaked with pre. It throbs at Nate's touch. He can't play with that without ending things far too early, so he travels upward. With his knife, the inteleon teases the caracal's swollen, erect nipple. White juts forth, so similar to the delicious cum he's drunk on many occasions that he licks it off without thinking. But it's not musky or salty, instead sweet.

"What is this?"

"Milk." Nate stares at him. "I'm lactating. It's one of the side effects."

"I thought milk only came from miltanks."

"It's a mammalian thing. Usually only females after birth so they can feed their young."

Curiosity satisfied, he suckles the nipple for more, not upset that Rowan is moaning instead of purring because he's doing the same. It's better than moomoo milk: warmer, sweeter, fresher. The stream stops. Even when sucking the other dry, the first is still depleted. There must be pheromones in there or somewhere; Nate's need to breed is stronger than ever. He drags his knife down, carefully-

"Chansey eggs!" Rowan shouts. "No knife near the goods, remember?"

Right, that's why I cut his clothes off from behind, he thinks, then tosses the knife behind him. No time to sheathe it, he needs to get to the main event-not before a taste, though. He lifts the caracal's ass by his haunches right into his mouth. Every lick fails to clean his taint as more is produced each time. Not that it's a bad thing, it's delectable. Sweet as honey with the caracal's taste as a base. Inside, his tongue is enveloped with the flavor, bordering on too much. Even if it was, Rowan's cries would motivate him. But it wouldn't stave off the urge to use his bigger appendage for as long. Which, as it is, isn't long.

Nate drops the caracal and rams his dick all the way inside. He nearly comes then and there, so he stills to take in his partner. Rowan is completely gone: claws tearing through the sheet into the mattress, eyes fluttering shut, and a never-ending mewl escaping his lips. When one of his paws rips free of the bed, he reaches for his cock.

A gentle spray of water isn't enough to deter the paw, so the inteleon uses a jet to force it down. "You can come when you earn the right."

"Sorry, kitty just might do so, no paws." At the slightest motion of Nate's hips, he screams, "ARCEUS! Your dick is divine."

For both of their sakes, the inteleon goes into a slow rhythm. Ineffective; the adamant tunnel milks him regardless of the speed. So he goes full throttle, holding the caracal still by the shoulders. True to his word, Rowan soaks himself in his own seed immediately. A beautiful sight, and a delicious taste when he starts licking it up.

"FILL ME WITH YOUR KITTENS, IGNATIUS!"

That sends Nate over the edge and the ecstasy from the orgasm hits him intense as ever. But a strong sense of purpose elevates it. Feeling his seed shooting and sensing it fertilizing the egg (eggs?). Knowing that he's entering a long-awaited chapter in his life. And the love from Rowan-his irrevocably true mate-to bear his hatchlings is indescribable.

Although, they won't be hatchlings, will they? No, the mother passes down the species, and his mate said "kittens." He stopped expecting he'll ever have sobble hatchlings when he couldn't mate with the other inteleon. But he was expecting pokemon hatchlings. It will be far farther in the future that the kittens will mature than if it were any pokemon.

Nate recovers faster and pulls out while his mate pants and writhes. Either because of his thoughts wandering or the elixir Rowan drank. At that thought, an idea strikes him. He grabs the vial off the nightstand to glean its information from the labels.

Uncorking the vial and draining it, the inteleon finds the caracal's sheath with his other hand. "Ready for round two, kitty?"

"I think I'm inseminated well enough, Nate. What I need is-" Rowan sniffs once, twice, then an uncountable amount of times. "Why do you smell so good all of a sudden?"

The inteleon shatters the vial against a wall. "I think you can figure it out." With the sheath bulging and spilling forth caracal cock, he positions himself astride it.

"Is that a good idea? That's a lot of kitt-offspring to take care of."

"Bad kitty." Nate shoots his mate's muzzle, forcing it to lay flat on the bed. "I make the decisions here."

The moment Rowan opens his mouth again, the inteleon silences him with water. He waits for him to swallow to see if he'll say the safeword, but he doesn't. So he grabs the pink, thick member that will grant his deepest desire; it's not overeager like before, though, still excited.

"Kitty wants to breed?"

"Yes!" The caracal bucks his hips. "Kitty wants to fill you with milk! The BEST milk. Kitty promises you'll love it! Kitty-"

"How do good kitties get what they want?" Nate releases Rowan's dick, and strokes his flanks instead.

The caracal starts a one-man symphony, vibrating through Nate. Not only where he's touching him, but through the bed as well. Despite how good he's being, he's too enthralled to give the caracal what he wants. When the rumbling quiets to normal levels, Rowan's pleading eyes tell Nate that if he could keep it up, he would've. His ears are dancing too, so he's on his best behavior.

The inteleon leans down to give some licks as a r-Lust overides all brain function except what's required to breed. He shoots up, still on his knees. His mate's cock twitches into his searching fingers, then he aligns it to his mating tunnel and plunges down. His membrane juts out, curling to surround them both in a yellow-hued canopy. But he doesn't pause, riding the caracal with his complete strength. The barbs make him cry out more than when they dragged across his glans.

Nate ejaculates hands-free, covering Rowan in yet another fluid. "COME!" The inteleon pets the sensitive spot behind his mate's ear. "GOOD KITTIES COME WHEN THEY'RE TOLD!"

Unable to stop mewling and moaning, the caracal only responds by playing with his nipples. He must want the attention there, so Nate bats the paws away, then suckles on one while his hand pleases the other.

"YES!" Rowan presses Nate's head into his nipple. "Kitty's milk is coming!" Both ends are flooded with milk: one sweet, the other musky and salty.

The inteleon doesn't orgasm again, but that sense of purpose returns ten-fold. This time he can literally sense the fertilization. The nipple goes dry and he switches to the other, still being pumped full of his mate's seed.

One thought races through his head over and over: I'll be a dad before winter's end, and months after that I'll be a dad again.

*

"I'll never get the hang of this!" Emily exclaims as she steps on her dad's foot once more.

Nate taps the pokedex sitting on the counter, stopping the music. "If it were easy, I wouldn't have to teach you."

"Jake picked it up after ten minutes."

"It comes easier to us inteleons." He holds out his left hand. "We're born to dance."

Instead of taking the offered hand, the young caracal huffs and backs away. "Papa does it better than you."

"He's been doing it for a decade and a half; you've been doing it for an hour and a half."

"Why can't he teach me? You're too freakishly tall."

"Pregnancy is harder on him than me." The inteleon restarts the music, slow and rhythmic. "Now, I see the way you look at that meowscarada." He takes his daughter's paw. "I forget his name, but if you want to impress him, you'll need to be a good dancer."

"It is NOT like that." Despite her words, Emily dances, this time not letting herself lose focus.

"But you want it to be."

This is the first kitten Nate teaches to dance, the fifteenth of his offspring. Emily is feisty in all the wrong ways, but at the same time perfect. And the hours it takes to get her competent makes it all the more rewarding. Especially when she will inevitably use the new skill to woo the meowscarada and have their own offspring together.

In a year, Tyler will come of age, and shortly after the egg inside Nate should evolve into their final form. Another year and Alexander will come of age, and he should have another hatchling ready too. So on and so on, and he has the privilege to teach all of them. Though he might have to start taking turns with Rowan soon. His mate has been growing more and more hesitant to get knocked up. Money isn't an issue, but as he grows older it takes a bigger toll on his health.

Nate will reach that point too. While he isn't looking forward to it, he'll be content alongside his mate and what they've created together.