Disclaimer: If only I could catch series-ownership in a pokéball…
Author's Note: Can anyone direct me towards some really good AshxMisty fluff? (Or, as I hear it's called, pokéshipping?) I'm having a hard time finding good fanfics for the old-school couples since… well, it's been a few years. (I guess I'm just not in the loop anymore. I mean, really—who the hell is Drew? feels old and out of it)
Warnings: I've always been rather intrigued by the subtle innuendos (as given to us by Pokémon Live! and the occasion ambiguous Dahlia comment) that Giovanni is Ash's real father. So I'll be playing with that. Also, the characters here are older—mid-twenties. And Ash and Misty are married. (C'mon. Even they knew they were getting married. Snickers over episode 41) Oh—and blatant references to sex. Yes, I can even make Pokémon risqué. (What can I say? It's a talent.)
"I don't think I can do this."
Fighting back a smile, Misty cast her husband a sidelong glance, watching their reflections in the vanity mirror: where she was pink with good-humor, he was turning faintly green. "It's a little late to be deciding that now," she chided, though her amusement was audible. Reaching for a tube of mascara, she winked at her image; with light, deft movements, she began applying the dark liquid. "The deed's done and we're letting everyone know tonight. Besides, we talked about this before— we decided we were ready. I believe you were even the one who brought the idea up in the first place."
Dressed in his best slacks and a white shirt, Ash groaned, flopping backwards on their queen-sized bed with his dress shoes still in his hands. "Dammit, Misty," he whined, "you know how much I hate it when you remember what I say and use it against me in perfectly legitimate, intelligent ways. Stop that, will you?"
His wife snorted, selecting a shade of lipstick to go with her slim crimson dress. "One of us has to be the adult in this relationship, Mr. Pokémon Master. Now, put your shoes on; we're going to be late."
"I'm pretty sure we can't be late to a party we're throwing," Ash drawled, spreading out his arms and sinking into the comfortable mattress. He sighed, staring intently at the ceiling fan. "…and I hate these shoes," he added in afterthought, as if trying to find a justifiable reason to be pouty.
With a roll of her eyes and a spin of her chair, Misty struck Ash with a very dry glare, crossing her arms over her chest. "Alright, Mr. Ketchum," she then sighed, standing long enough to flounce over to her husband and hop atop him with—dare she say it—practiced ease. Once comfortably straddled, bare legs peeking from the long slits of her Chinese kimono, she leaned forward, laced her fingers through Ash's, and pressed her forehead against his own; her hair tumbled over her shoulder in loose ginger waves, curtaining them both from the world. "What's the problem?"
Trapped and too tired to fight, Ash's brown eyes flit dejectedly to the left… but soon inched up to meet Misty's concerned stare, filling with fear.
"…what if I suck?" he asked quietly, raw panic in his voice. Above him, his wife arched a wry eyebrow; he glowered, perfectly serious. "No, really, Misty. What if I blow it? What if I screw up really bad and…? I mean, what if it runs in the family?"
"Ash," Misty said patiently, struggling not to snigger at the sheer horror that had crept its way onto her husband's winsome face; he really was too cute for his own good. "Just because your father was a vile, manipulative bastard, doesn't mean you will be."
"How do you know?" Ash demanded, his words a mixture of desperation and annoyance. "Maybe I'll take one look at the kid and I'll decide to leave and never come back and start some multi-billion dollar organization of evil run by incompetent fools. You'll never see me in person again, but someday you'll find yourself hounded by minions of Team Rocket and think of me and hate me so much that you'll want me to die…"
He trailed off weakly, well aware that he would get no response until he kindly-shut-the-hell-up, and chose to fall back on a wordless sulk to show his displeasure.
"…firstly," Misty droned following a moment of silence, "never use the phrase 'incompetent fools' again. It freaks me out."
"See?! It's the start of—" Ash began, but was cut off by a swift kiss that tasted like laughter.
"Secondly," the young woman continued, resolutely refusing to let her lovable moron get a word in edgewise, "you are the kindest, sweetest, most compassionate man I know. Everyone who's ever met you has had nothing but good things to say. Even Jesse and James lavish praise on you. Plus, you've nurtured and trained the best pokémon in the entire world, and everyone says that's great practice for parenthood. Seriously—name one pokémon you've raised that hasn't turned out fantastic."
Ash's face screwed up in deep thought, mouth pinched in deliberation. "…Charizard could have turned out bett— ow! Don't hit me!"
"Then don't be stupid," Misty retorted, poking him pointedly in the chest. "You know as well as I do that Charizard became a fine pokémon. You're just pulling at strings and looking for excuses because you're scared—just like you used to do when you were little."
He couldn't argue with that.
"Well, what about you, then?" he retorted softly, lifting his now-free hands to cup his wife's slim hips. "Aren't you scared?"
Expression softening, Misty leaned forward to nestle into the crook of his neck—her favorite place in the world. "Of course I am," she whispered, grinning as she wrapped her arms around him, tangling their legs. "And I'm excited and nervous and very often sick to my stomach… in more ways than one… but I've got you, so I know it'll all be okay."
Ash couldn't help but smile, left hand falling to rest on the small of her back. But after a pause the young man frowned, brow furrowed in puzzlement. "…and who have I got, then?"
"Haha." Voice toneless, Misty snapped a glare on the playful idiot, pounding his chest with an irritated fist when he dared to chuckle at something funny. "Me, you chowder-head. Though sometimes I'm not sure why I stay with you."
"…hm." The young man blinked twice in succession, as if never having thought of this before. "I'm not sure why, either," he then declared. In deep consideration over this rhetorical query, Ash scrunched his forehead and tapped a finger musingly against his chin. "Is it because of my rugged good looks?"
A snort. "No. And on a related note you need to comb that bird's nest of yours before we go."
"Ouch," he winced, making a face. "You could have at least pretended to think about that one…" After some half-hearted grumbling—all while completely ignoring the crack about his untamable black mane— Ash made a valiant second attempt. "My fame and prestigious title, then? I hear girls totally dig that sort of stuff."
Misty smirked. "Getting closer…" she encouraged, cuddling into his side. "Though no one says 'totally dig' anymore."
"Really? Well, you live and learn. How about my wealth?"
"That certainly doesn't hurt, but no."
"The great sex?"
"Yeah, that's what you were saying wh— ow! What is it with you and hitting me?"
"Try again," Misty growled, face on fire as her husband snickered. He's such a typical man. Ugh.
"Okay, okay. How about because I knocked you up?" he suggested cheerfully, only avoiding getting smacked a third time by initiating a preemptive strike: grabbing her flailing fingers. "No? God. Well, it couldn't possibly be because you love me, could it?"
Lying beside him, the young woman shook her head, looking equally stunned. "Lord knows why, but yes," she confessed, as if admitting some great personal sin. Then she giggled, smiled, and made to sit up—
But was unexpectedly stopped by Ash, who—with an equally practiced grace—was suddenly astride her, kissing down her throat with a passion that made Misty's knees turn to jelly.
"A…Ash…" she choked, cheeks flushed as his lips skimmed past her collar bone, working their way downward: over her breasts… her rib cage… and finally settled on her abdomen, cheek resting against her tummy. His warm breath seeped through the silk of her dress, tickling her flesh… but no longer in a sexual way. Intrigued, Misty pushed herself onto her elbows, watching her husband beneath her lashes.
"…I'm still scared," Ash murmured abruptly, eyes downcast as he spoke—not to his wife, but into her still-flat belly, one hand rubbing soothing circles over the cloth-covered skin. "And I already love you so much, it only scares me more. I can't promise I'll be as good of a father as I am a pokémon trainer… your grandfather proved you can be one without the other, I guess. But… but I'm gonna try really, really hard to not only be the best Pokémon Master, but also the best dad."
There was a pause in which he hesitated, made a strained face, then added quickly: "…so could you try to be a little more cooperative that Charizard? And your mother? 'Cause I know you don't know what this means yet, but your momma can be a real b—"
Ash's quiet conference was interrupted by Misty's fist, which came down fast and hard on the top of his head. "What, exactly, am I Ash Ketchum?" she demanded, using his ear as leverage to make him meet her steely eyes.
But there was amusement in their ocean-blue depths, and he was beaming like the 10-year-old she'd fallen in love with: his gaze full of warmth and adoration. It made her feel all tingly inside…
"—a real beautiful, perfect, incredible woman," he finished earnestly, fluttering his lashes in an innocent sort of way. "Why? What did you think I was going to say?"
Misty leveled him a flat stare… but it quickly dissolved into a grin and a giggling fit. Her tense fingers loosened, caressing his handsome face, and with a gentle tug Ash's mouth met her own; she sunk below him and he loomed above her and their already jumbled bodies ached to twine more…
"Hey… I thought you said we were gonna be late," the young man murmured against his wife's lips, fingers twirling through her soft ocher locks, itching to begin work on the intricate snaps that kept her dress in place.
With a feral sort of smile—the kind that always made Ash's heart skip a beat—Misty popped the first few buttons of his once-pressed linen shirt. "I'm pretty sure we can't be late to a party we're throwing," she quoted deviously, pressing an airy kiss to the bottom of his jaw.
A heated moan.
"Dammit, Misty…" Ash shivered, only just managing to bite back a groan as he peppered her face with butterfly kisses, "have I mentioned how much I love it when you remember what I say and use it against me in perfectly legitimate, intelligent ways?"
She grinned, but didn't answer; there was no need to do so.
Nor did she have the breath support to try.
I heartily support pokéshipping!babyxrocketshipping!baby. Hellz yes. X3