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The onsen in northern Kalos had been a destination that Philippe wanted to take Corbeau for months.
Their private pool was small, just big enough for the pair to move around in their own bubble and close enough to feel the steam radiating off each other and surrounded by cool rock that didn’t bite into their skin while resting on it.
Philippe chose this spot not only for privacy, but also for the view. Rolling trees surrounded them on all sides, shading their view like tall curtains aside from one angle where a beautiful sunset greeted them. The crimson sun was quartered and hazy in the distance, but provided just enough light through the bark to illuminate Corbeau like an angel that had been blessed by god.
Truly, Philippe was blessed himself to see this sight. He pillowed his head on the rock and stared at Corbeau, who was indulging himself in a way he had only in solitude. He sank himself completely under the water before surfacing again with a satisfied grin. Water ran in rivets down from his hair, over tattoos and pale skin and scars.
Philippe had known that Corbeau was covered by tattoos. He had seen them through many nights spent together when both of them had too much too drink and not enough relief for them both, but that was in a momentary glance before focusing on the more important parts of Corbeau.
He knew about the pale skin of course; he had always worried about how little sun Corbeau received on a daily basis and it always showed strongest when they were nude like this. Corbeau didn’t have a tan anywhere, no golden skin or flakes or browning, just seamless pale skin. Next to Philippe he looked like a Victorian noble, or maybe a vampire who had a taste for tattoos that looked like poison type Pokemon.
What he did not know however were the scars. There were plenty to see and many that he knew intimately from their time as adversaries on the streets. A thin strip near his hip was from a Skarmory swipe a few years ago when Corbeau had ran him through deliveries. Another, a larger gash on his thigh, was more recent, received from a territory dispute that left both of them a bit delirious from blood loss.
The last one Philippe knew well was a red splotch just below his right hand, a raised nasty thing that Corbeau itched on occasion when he thought Philippe wasn’t looking. It was a gift from Corbeau’s first time meeting Venipede, when the Pokemon didn’t trust him at all. Corbeau wouldn’t call that one a scar, it was more like a perpetual love bite.
“You’re staring.” Corbeau said. He leaned back against the rocks, sending a few waves across the small pool that barely reached Philippe.
“I am.”
“You’ve seen them all before, what else are you looking at?” Corbeau asked. The sunlight hit the side of his face in a golden beam. He looked like a purrloin napping in a windowsill, with his dark hair slicked back from water and his eyes just barely open to slits.
“Your tattoos. I’ve never had a good look at them.” Philippe said.
“Then come over here and see them for yourself dear.” He purred. Philippe sloshed forward until he stood over Corbeau. He hadn’t yet figured out how to be graceful, he felt like a giant wading through the ocean.
Corbeau spun himself around and presented his spine. Philippe stepped forward.
“I got them to have a new start.” Corbeau said as Philippe traced a nail over a particularly brutal scar across Corbeau’s back, concealed within the antler of Scolipede.
“A new start?” Philippe repeated.
“Mm. From before I joined the Rust Syndicate.” Philippe traced over his shoulder blades lightly, with a grace that bellied his huge stature. Corbeau shuddered.
“Too much?” Philippe asked.
“No, not at all. It’s just been a while since someone looked at them.” Corbeau said. He rested his arms against the rock and exposed more of his back from the water for Philippe to look.
“And when was the last time someone has looked at them?” Philippe asked. Corbeau chuckled.
“Maybe since I got them? I’m not a prude, but I don’t show off myself lightly y’know?” Corbeau said. The scolipede was framed by other imagery of poison-types, a deep purple that hazed over his spine and down to his hips like smog.
“So am I the first one to see them all?” He asked.
“Hmm, maybe.” Corbeau murmured.
Philippe splayed his palms across Corbeau’s skin and dragged them across his body. It was a quick trip around his hips with a grasp that had dragged Corbeau through alleyways and their bedroom alike. And throughout all of it, Philippe felt tiny ridges and raises against Corbeau’s skin that had been inked over and covered by drawn appendages that left the worst of the injuries to feel alone.
Philippe bent down to trace a kiss along the small of his back. Corbeau purred but kept himself still against the rock. Philippe moved up towards the bulk of his tattoos, where the largest of his ink was. He rolled the pad of his finger over a long slice that started between the vertebrae of his spine and extended outward, like a dead branch, towards his ribcage.
“That one was your fault.” Corbeau said. Philippe froze his finger on the tip of the scar. “I remember you had shoved me against the back of a dumpster deep in the construction sites of the city. Do you remember?”
Philippe didn’t. Corbeau and him had been through so many fights - with fists or pokemon or otherwise - and he was sure he left more scars than Corbeau had managed to implant onto him. He thought he’d known every scar he'd inflicted on Corbeau. He was clearly wrong.
Corbeau read his silence like an open book.
“You don’t remember huh? It’s alright Philippe, I’m sure you have plenty of scars you don’t remember as well.” Corbeau turned around again and faced Philippe with his head up.
“Have you looked enough?” Corbeau asked.
“No, not nearly enough.” Philippe said back. Corbeau smiled and pulled Philippe’s arms up through the water and onto his waist.
“Well, then it’s good that we have all the time in the world don’t we?” Corbeau said. It was Philippe’s turn to smile and he tightened his grip, intent on making up for all the scars he had ever inflicted before.