Work Text:
That’s an odd reaction. Something is wrong.
Spinel’s confident smirk was quickly replaced by a hardened glare, directed toward the man standing in opposition to him.
He’d prepared everything in his own favor—the room’s poor lighting keeping his face mostly ambiguous unless up close, the enclosed space preventing any terastalization or flame-fueled rampages, everything. He prepared even his Umbreon’s moveset for this one fight, to take down the professor without hurting her at all. The other man was at a disadvantage the entire battle, and Umbreon had just launched Friede’s Pikachu into a cold, concrete wall—so what, pray tell, could there be for his opponent to smirk about?
He felt a prickle of annoyance at the professor’s nonchalance, though soon replaced by a smugness of his own; Friede could think he had the upper hand all he wished, but Spinel knew he really stood no chance. He prepared for every possibility, countered anything the professor could try, him even attempting to only lowered Spinel’s presumptions of his level of intelligence—
—He cut himself off from the chain of thought. He needed to be more cautious fighting the professor, he reminded himself. Last time he let himself get carried away in his own confidence, he lost. And while he could never say he regretted said loss—it led to his newfound…”interest” in Friede, after all, which proved more engaging than most of his most recent research opportunities, which were getting duller and duller day by day—he refused to let all of his research on the man be for naught.
He’s plotting something. That was the only plausible explanation. Even someone like his dear professor (he thought, wryly) could tell how badly their battle was going for him, far too badly to be smirking like that.
Spinel wracked his brain, trying to come up with an explanation. Whatever the professor planned would likely prove to be futile; Spinel came very prepared, after all. The chance of Friede somehow escaping the room he so generously prepared for the two of them was so close to zero, it was meaningless to dwell on the mere possibility. Yet even then, Spinel couldn’t shake the creeping suspicion that this would go badly for him instead; an unfamiliar feeling, he noted. Regardless of how low the other man’s success rate was, it certainly couldn’t hurt to attempt a few precautions, he figured.
He narrowed his eyes and studied the man across from him for a few moments, scanning to find anything he could exploit to throw him off of whatever he planned. After all the time he spent…”observing” him, he was certain he could figure out something. He never left anything only half done; this battle would certainly be no exception.
He focused on the professor’s airheadedness; he’d seen example after example through Beheeyem’s planted cameras of his forgetfulness, with him even forgetting to inform his crew about their first battle; while ideal for keeping himself as secret as possible, it left a sour taste in his mouth. Barely even acknowledging the man who made him break out his oh so secret weapon? Surely he deserved better than that.
He’d leave a lasting impression this time, he’d make sure of it. But whatever he did, he had to do it fast —perhaps a distraction could be of use? Friede couldn’t interfere with Spinel’s plot with his own if he never got the chance to, after all. And considering his airheadedness, a little distraction could keep his attention away for long enough for Spinel to ensure his own victory.
After a moment of contemplation, an idea popped into his mind, his eyes widening slightly; an idea quite different from what he’d usually gravitate to, though that could make it all the more effective. If he played his cards right, he could completely throw off the professor and take the victory he so rightfully earned—the other man would never expect it.
First, though, he had to test something. He brought his focus back to the battle, Umbreon and the now un-capped Pikachu rapidly trading blows (or attempting to, courtesy of Umbreon’s reflects). “Umbreon,” he called out, beckoning for her attention. Alas, this also drew the attention of the professor; he’d have to be subtle, or he could risk his little “experiment.” Once her eyes shot to him, he made a small gesture and gave a pointed look at the Pikachu. After looking back and forth between the two, Umbreon nodded and quickly got into position.
“Getting tired of all the blocking? Could do you some good to branch out a little,” Friede barked, mocking. Clearly, he realized Spinel was plotting something; while he still looked fairly sure of himself, Spinel could see a hint of caution in his gaze. No matter. Outwardly, he scoffed. “Perhaps you should keep your eyes on the battle, hm?” Spinel matched the other man’s mocking look with one of his own, and watched the gears turn in Friede’s head as he snapped his attention back to the battle.
That wasn’t even part of his plot, Spinel admitted to himself. That was just for his own entertainment.
Spinel turned his own eyes to the battle, studying for the perfect time to strike. And after a few moments, he found it. As the Pikachu charged up yet another Volt Tackle towards Umbreon, rather than yelling for her to put up another reflect, keeping the attack far from harming either one of them, he gestured for her to dodge.
Leaving the Pikachu with far too much momentum to stop in the middle of its tackle, and now barrelling straight towards Spinel himself.
“Shit, wait—!” Friede lunged towards the collision in some sad attempt to stop it—yet before he could manage anything, his eye caught the glint of yet another Reflect. Pikachu yet again barrelled into the wall, and after glancing back to ensure his partner was fine (Cap gave him a thumbs up from the back of the room), and to ensure the wall still crumbled under each impact, his eyes shot to the man ahead of him—who stood completely unscathed. Before Friede could process what the hell just happened, a satisfied smirk showed itself on his opponent’s face, and his shock and bafflement was quickly replaced with a sinking feeling in his stomach. He felt he just walked into a trap.
Meanwhile, Spinel let out a small chuckle. Of course Friede leapt in to “save” him, thus is the flaw with all these pathetically “heroic” types. His initial plan could go on easily; clearly, he had no risk of getting caught in the crossfire. Friede just couldn’t bear to actually harm him, could he? He could almost laugh, and his smirk quickly formed into a sneer.
Before Friede could get out another word, let alone get himself back into a fighting stance, Spinel waltzed across their battlefield without a care in the world—the other man already proved Spinel was in no real danger—the clack of his heels ringing throughout the room like an ominous bell as he approached Friede.
As soon as he reached the other man, Spinel grabbed the lapels of his coat, dragging his confused and bewildered face down to his own level and pressed his lips to Friede’s.
It lasted only a second, nothing more than a peck—which, clearly, was all Spinel needed, as he drew away from the professor and studied his expression, which could best be described as a human loading screen. Spinel smirked; all went just as he thought it would. This meant nothing to him, of course—everything was just a means to an end. But to Friede?
If the bright red overtaking his face, the wide, flabbergasted eyes, and the open, sputtering mouth of the other man indicated anything, this would keep him up at night for weeks. And would certainly leave him too bewildered to process anything battle related for the remainder of their little encounter. Thus was time for the finale.
While the professor struggled trying to get a word out, likely to question what the hell, Spinel made his move.
“Umbreon, Foul Play!”
—
And yet he still lost .
He sat leaning forward in his chair, propping his chin up on his interlocked hands as he studied the screen in front of him; his eyes—starting to hurt from how intently he stared—were fixed on the screen’s projection of the very man he lost to time and time again. Logically, all that preparation was for naught—not even his abrupt attempts at ensuring the tides wouldn’t turn were futile, in the end. Yet any hint of anger or frustration was missing from his expression, reflecting back at him through the screens.
He leaned back, resting his hands on his seat’s armrests. He slumped quietly for a moment, before his hands tightened where he grasped the seat. A chuckle broke through the silence.
How could he be frustrated when such an interesting new opportunity showed itself?
Nothing he tried against the professor ever worked—no, that’s not quite it, he backtracked. Moreso, no matter what he tried, Friede always managed some way to overcome it. Even his most recent stunt, though it threw him off for perhaps a minute, Friede nonetheless bounced back and took him down.
That unpredictability, that resilience, it infuriated him to no end—
Yet.
All he could feel when confronted with his own failures, brought about by the other man, was intrigue. He almost felt like a starting researcher again, opening whole new avenues of research. Though now instead focusing on a single man, rather than ecology and the like—such topics bored him at this point; he knew practically all there was to know, so what point was there?
But this. This professor, who forced him to rewrite almost every note he wrote on him after every one of their encounters—he was different . Well deserving of further study.
He brought a hand up to his face, brushing over where their lips had met earlier that day with his thumb; another intriguing point to observe, the other man’s reaction. He hadn’t expected his plot to work that well, even if he still failed in the end; he expected it to be but a momentary distraction, for the professor to be overwhelmed by anger or mere shock—
—Yet he couldn’t get that flushed, bewildered face out of his mind. It seemed there was more to the other man’s feelings towards him, perhaps something other than just contempt. Just another avenue to study, for him. Perhaps something to exploit, as well, should he get another opportunity. The absurdity of it all almost made him laugh; not only trying to jump in and “save the day,” at his Pikachu’s Volt Tackle, but even falling victim to such soft, vulnerable feelings for his adversary? Absolutely pathetic, Spinel thought with a hint of affection, mentally looking down on the professor.
He willed down his own giddiness at the prospect of another chance to experiment with Friede’s thoughts of him—perhaps his own feelings were swayed, like a lovestruck schoolgirl, he thought to himself with wry sarcasm—to focus back on the task at hand.
He brought out a single Pokeball, releasing the rose gold Pokemon from within. “Beheeyem. Tail him for me, would you please?” He looked back at it and gestured toward his screen, still covered in photos and notes of Friede. As Beheeyem blipped away, Spinel turned back to the screens, a smirk forming on his face as he stared at the projection of the other man; he reached out a hand, placing it fondly onto one of the photos of Friede, as if he were stroking a lover’s cheek, though of course with a more sinister air.
There’d be much more “fun” to be had with this, indeed.