Disclaimer: Gotta catch 'em all! (But I've yet to own 'em all.)
Author's Note: There are so many things I should be doing right now. Instead, here I sit, writing Pokémon fanfiction. Yep. Story of my life.
Randomness: You know what's really weird? I'll tell you what's really weird. The number of romance/love songs on the Pokémon movie soundtracks. Seriously. "It Was You." "Miracle." "Flying Without Wings." "The Extra Mile." Etc. I think, not-so-secretly, the dubbers of Pokémon ship Ash and Misty, too. And that's their way of showing it. Because the songs really have no other point or purpose.
Warnings: In case y'all haven't figured it out yet, I'm a sick, twisted person at heart. Yes, this really is about Pikachu hearing Ash and Misty get it on. (…I'm a little disgusted at myself right now.) But, c'mon, it's all in good fun. (Where do you think he is in your fanfics, hmmm? Yeah, that's what I thought.) And just so you know, flames will be used to toast marshmallows; Charmander's tail just isn't gettin' that job done anymore. (Besides, I'm sure he'd appreciate the chance to make his own s'mores.)
It was at times like this that Pikachu wished he could tolerate his pokéball.
Biting back a near-nauseous whimper, the small electric mouse burrowed himself between the throw pillows on the couch, trying very, very, very hard to not pay attention. Or, if he could lose consciousness, that would work too. Really, either option would do—he wasn't picky. But alas, Ash kept him in perfect health, and the throw pillows had been made to cushion one's behind, not cover their ears.
Particularly not ears as keen as his own.
"Ka-chu…" Pikachu groaned, looking slightly ill as his little arms loosened, surrendering to the futility of it all. It was just as well… even if he couldn't hear the grunts and airy moans, or the squeaking mattress springs, or the clunk of the bed frame as it met and re-met the wall in a rather intimate, rhythmic manner, he'd have still been able to feel the faint vibrations through the floor—not to mention the scent of their mating floating on the air— and that would've been all he needed to know.
And really, it was just knowing that made it so unbearable. Because once you knew, you started to think about it. And once you started to think about it—!
Sighing, Pikachu flopped dejectedly atop a stray pillow, fighting the urge to glance down the adjacent hall and glare at the offending bedroom door. It wasn't like getting irritable would do him any good, and who was he to condemn his trainer for breeding? It was only natural. Humans were animals, just like pokémon, and had similar urges—Pikachu could relate. And it wasn't as if he wasn't happy for his Pikapi: after a decade of waiting he and Misty were finally together, and that was a wonderful thing.
Or—more appropriately, taking both his density and her stubborn streak into account—a miraculous thing.
But that didn't mean Pikachu wanted a front row seat for the more romantic moments of their relationship.
Maybe I should get Ash to buy me a little house for the backyard, he thought darkly, instinctively squeezing his eyes shut when a rather suggestive gasp sounded through the house. Like the ones I see in the catalogues for Arcanines and Houndooms.
Initially, it was a tempting idea… but it was also entirely impractical. Pikachu knew from experience that he'd be able to hear them out there, too. Actually, he was still a little surprised that the neighbors hadn't bothered to call and find out what all the noise had been about last time… or maybe they were just used to it by now. To be sure, no matter what they did, his trainer and his trainer's mate had a tendency to do it in surround sound: laugh, snore, argue, have se—
Don't think about it! Pikachu told himself firmly, bopping himself once over the head. We're just having a very concentrated, long-lasting earthquake. Yeah, that's right…
"Pi-pi kachu…" the little mouse muttered, expression flat and voice toneless. This really was ridiculous… and it wasn't as if he could complain to any of his friends after the fact, either. The one time he'd tried, Ash's other pokémon had shot Pikachu incredulous glares and pointed out—rather coldly— that he wouldn't have that problem if he'd just suck it up and go into his pokéball once in a while.
Jerks, Pikachu mused dourly, but really couldn't blame them. They didn't hear any of it, contained as they were—only knew that their trainer was always in a particularly good mood the next day, chipper and encouraging and more affectionate than usual. (Which didn't seem possible, but there it was.) It's not my fault I'm claustrophobic.
With bitter recall, an old pal's reaction to this particular grievance leapt instantly to mind, even when Pikachu tried to force the memory back: "Bulba-bulbasaur. Saur," the grass pokémon had snorted, rolling its crimson eyes. Which, converted to human-speak, roughly translated into: You're not claustrophobic, you're spoiled.
Even now the comment made his fur bristle; it was an insult that Pikachu didn't feel was fair. Then again, Bulbasaur had never been known for his tactfulness…
Thinking simultaneously of pokéball-phobia, unfairness, and tactlessness always brought to mind another acquaintance of Pikachu's: Team Rocket's (or, rather, the ex-Team Rocket's… not that it kept them from repeating that stupid motto all of the time) almost-humanoid companion, Meowth. Ironically, he was the one who best understood Pikachu's problem, now that his trainers had decided to become life-long mates. Unfortunately, he hadn't had much in the way of advice.
"Knowin' how ta talk human-talk don't even help," the feline pokémon had admitted grimly, the confession being Pikachu's strongest recollection of the only time he'd managed to pluck up enough courage to broach the subject. "'Cause it'd only make it more awkward. I can't exactly yell at 'em to keep it down, can I? It'd just be weird, like I wuz listenin'. Even humans don't do dat to one anodda very often. I dunno, buddy— I always just go out and prowl for a while. Meet some ally cats and da like. Ya could try dat."
But Ash had never liked it when Pikachu ran off without telling him. He supposed he could do it without alerting his trainer—let himself out when they started and sneak back in later— but what if he got caught? What if he worried Pikapi? Worse yet, even if Ash didn't find out, Pikachu knew he'd end up telling him: he'd feel too guilty otherwise. So for all points and practical purposes, running off wasn't an option. At least, not without getting his trainer's permission first… and where did that leave him? In order to ask Ash, Pikachu would have to interrupt his trainer's behind-closed-doors-activities, and avoiding that was the whole point of leaving in the first place!
Not to mention the mere thought of getting close to that door was enough to make Pikachu feel queasy.
No, there was no way of getting around it; there was nowhere to run or hide. Pikachu would just have to cower behind his cushions, pray for it all to end soon, and endure the embarrassment like the strong-stomached, mature electric mouse he was.
…and maybe use the occasion as an excuse for investing in high-quality earplugs.
He hoped the catalog with the Houndoom and Arcanine houses would have some in stock.