An ikarishipping one-shot! Read, relish, review. Thanks.

Disclaimer: I do not own Pokemon. All rights reserved to the owners. However, I do own the plot of this story and any OC's

Paul and Dawn were forced to live together. Forced.

In attempt to have Paul gain a sense of propriety, Reggie – his older sister – wanted him to get a roommate. Out of a lack of funds, Dawn needed a roommate. With Reggie's self-proclaimed role of matchmaker, he knew the two would get along splendidly despite being opposites. Getting them together would be his goal, his project. However, working with two young adults who were barely familiarized with one another was going to be a challenge. Mere acquaintances, Paul and Dawn had disregarded the other during their dormitory life at college and rarely talked to one another. Occasionally running into each other on the busy streets of Sinnoh was not an accident, but purely a coincidence. Despite the disparity between the two, Reggie still sought to get his stoic, platonic, hot-headed brother with the gorgeous, sweet Dawn. After a relentless effort, he somehow managed to pull it off.

Reggie soon became the problem.

Once the two started to live together, they quickly separated from one another. Attempts of trying to escape their abnormal living conditions were futile. Reggie was simply everywhere.

In frustration and desperation, the two young adults decided to get over the situation and just deal with it. However, the more comfortable they became with one another, the more they discovered their attraction for the other. Primitive, foreign feelings soon became natural and wanted to be expressed. Although, omitting from the casual relationship advancement of going out on dates and such, their relationship always became furthered within a bathroom. Through bathroom commodities and discrepancies, the two were able to gain better connections.

Phase One: Out of Toilet Paper

Paul exhaled loudly and wiped a layer of sweat from his sticky forehead. In a lethargic stupor, his entire body was incapable of any movement. His eyes fluttered to the bathroom door of his apartment in annoyance, waiting for the damned thing to open. It was scalding and the only thing he wanted was to take a cold shower.

His nose crinkled in disgust. He knew she was going to take forever. Desperately trying to ignore the dilemma, he sought to somehow occupy himself. Looking around the moderately decorated living room for a solution got nowhere. Aimlessly looking at magazines only became chore. He came to the conclusion that there was no solution except waiting it out.

It wasn't until a screech plagued the apartment's hushed morning air.

Paul gulped grossly. What the hell?

He rose from the couch in a slow, guarded fashion. Standing upon the bathroom's closed entrance, his lips gently parted to speak, but mere small puffs of air molded his words; nothing came out. He cursed at himself for his inability to take action.

"Troublesome," he paused, and then continued with a sigh, "What the hell are you doing in there?"

She didn't immediately respond and as each second swelled by, Paul grew more uncomfortable. Silence consumed the clefts of now tangible air and traced Paul's wavered thoughts. When Dawn finally decided to respond back, Paul straightened his posture and plastered his ear against the door frame, desperately and raptly trying cling onto to her voice.

"Paul...," she started, sounding very hesitant. She exhaled loudly and resumed, "I have a problem and I-I... need your help."

He rolled his eyes at her dithering, amused at how women were so indirect. "What?" he snapped.

"Ugh...well, you see... I.. am out of toilet paper."

Paul immediately retracted. "You are fucking disgusting. I don't know what makes you so dumb, but it really seems to be working."

"WHAT!" she screamed. Her hands clutched her head in a tight brace, somehow attempting to ease the tinging palpability of the humiliation.

Paul snarled, a scowl battering his lips.

"There are several people in this world that I find unbearably obnoxious, and you are all of them. Now, just use your damn hand or a towel. You're making this into a bigger deal than it needs to be. There's shit on your ass and all you need to do is wipe it off. Whoopee! I need to take a shower so get the hell out," he retorted, the words flicking off his tongue like cold slivers of ice.

Water viciously crowded the corners of her eyes in embarrassment. Her voice croaked before the yelling began, "PAUL! THIS ISN'T FUNNY!"

His hands slung around the golden knob as they attempted to pry it open. "I am certainly not going to help you if you can't make the distinction upon when to use and when not to use the bathroom. You should make sure not to let your mind wander, it's far too small to be let out on its own," he said loudly.

"W-What is your problem, Paul! Just... just... WHAT THE HELL?" she cried desperately.

"What's your problem?"

She pouted nosily. "You are so annoying!"

"Your behavior is indicative of annoyance. Now get out," he snapped, quickly losing his tolerance to her.

"No!" she cried. She continued to sit upon the cold porcelain potty with the single whim of drifting into a utopian void where bathroom commodities were limitless and where Paul wasn't a bastard. Too bad she was far from it.

Paul sighed loudly. "Fine, then why don't you just take a shower? Shit comes off with water, remember?"

Her pupils grew wide. "EW! Paul, that's worse! If you were in this situation, you wouldn't make me do the same thing!"

"Correction: If I was in your situation I would make sure there was enough toilet paper before I went. Only idiots use the bathroom when there's no toilet paper," he snapped, angered by her assumed perception of himself.

Dawn didn't reply back and a colossal amount of time passed without notice. Oddly, Paul's negative disposition to the situation lessened as Dawn's many sighs grew. He didn't want to spend the entirety of the day beyond the bathroom door, without entrance, so he decided to fetch her requested tissues.

Once the soft, cotton finicky matter was within his palms, they slowly became damp. The heat radiating off his hands caused for their slow death as they decomposed into a small heap of cotton microfibers on the carpet. Paul took no notice. "Listen, I'll come in and give you the damn tissues. Just….just…" he paused. "Just don't make this more difficult than it needs to be."

The stubs of his fingers not holding the tissues daintily slithered around the smooth knob, wincing at contact from the foreign yet completely comprehensible coldness, and slightly pushed it inwardly. Although, the simple inelegance of the situation wasn't the only thing that was present, there was also a pungent sensation of attraction developing. Paul felt turned on and it scared the hell out of him.

"Troublesome, can you like guide me or something? Let's just get this damn thing over with."

Sweat prickled her skin and discomfort became an instant, unwanted acquaintance. Her eyes darted back between his indecisive steps and the tissues trapped within his grip. "All you have to do is give me the towels, Paul. It's not like you have to wipe my butt or anything."

Intense, acrid mortification devoured his cheeks in red. His thoughts became unruly; quickly drifting from one thing to another, darting through reality and into impracticality. He moved his feet slowly and eventually came into contact with something: her foot. He stood still and straight, knowing well that she was right in front of him. Once she sheepishly fixated her icy-blue eyes – which had abruptly grew into a foul grey color from the anxiety – onto him, she shivered in shame.

Thoughts floating, feelings aloft, and emotions undistinguishable had made Paul lose all insight. His lashes flickered, trying to block the sudden immobility. The sweat was mounting and became a casualty as nervous physical spasms did the same. The anxiety soon became too much. His knees buckled and he grabbed Dawn's bare thighs for support. He made direct eye-contact with her then passed out.

Dawn started to panic.

Paul had passed out directly on her feet and she wasn't quite sure how to get the tissues, clean herself up, and adeptly maneuver through the whole thing. She was in an awkward place. Her feet were trapped under his head, which was stuck to a piece of gum on the floor – in all likelihood, hers – making every gasp of air between limbs vital.

Her eyes locked onto the bundle of tissues barely within Paul's hand and sighed. It was in his opposing hand – the one further away from her – making the only way of getting it by reaching. She tugged on a few locks of hair, destroying the unnatural, blue curls by doing so, and took a deep breath. Her right hand slightly stretched out as her back arched forward. Her brows creased sadly. There was still a measurable amount of distance between her hand and the white matter, meaning that a deeper stretch was nonnegotiable.

Every inch forward made for an inch less on the toilet seat. She was practically hovering over him, hoping not to fall. Small droplets of sweat traced their way down her face and landed directly on his head. She bit her tongue and tensed.

She continued to extend her hand – rather painfully, making each joint overstrain its flexible capability – while trying to sneer away the sweat molecules falling from her forehead. The temperature of the bathroom became instantly unbearable and the need to wipe her forehead became a necessity. Immediately freely her hand, she wiped the glob of sweat off. Although, the miniscule moment of relieve, the well wanted 'ah' moment, was short-lived. The sudden action caused her entire body to directly crash on top of Paul.

Eyes wide and muscles tight, Dawn couldn't breathe – she didn't want to breathe. Her lower naked body was practically pressed up against an unconsciousness Paul. The little breathing that she managed to accrue was mangled and scruffy. She started to worry as she tempted herself to think about the possibility that if he did wake up and see her. The overbearing thought became too much.

She passed out.

Phase Two: Stubborn Shampoo Caps

Paul was livid. Focusing on any one thing was too much to ask for and talking – without babbling incoherent phrases – became nearly impossible. His thoughts were messy as was himself. He didn't know what his female roommate was trying to accomplish, if she had any alter-motive, but the growing notion that she was some sort of bathroom defiling rapist became the most respectable prospect.

He was frustrated by the fact that two mere days ago he had waken up with her naked ass on his back in the bathroom. He dwindled through the thought of Dawn could having some animate fetish for bathroom erotica. Regardless, he didn't like it.

It was four o'clock in the morning and Paul stretched his limbs in a prolonged, sleep deprived matter. He was up unnaturally late so he could easily get away with spending an abnormally long amount of time in the bathroom without being questioned.

He slowly sat down against the wall of the small bathroom and placed his two instruments on the floor: super glue and pliers.

His back slightly arched as he reached into the shower and grabbed her obnoxiously pink shampoo bottle. A small twinge of the cap by his thumb and it was off. Once the cap quietly left its place of being closed, a light twang of flowers and strawberries wiggled out. The combined fruit and floral scent created a special farrago of fragrances. Paul's nose instantly became enticed by the overly intoxicated feminine aroma. The lines on his face softened and a light smile played on his lips.

It took all of five seconds for Paul to realize that he was getting aroused by her shampoo and immediately scolded himself. He couldn't like how she smelled and, moreover, he couldn't like anything about her. He groaned loudly and scrunched his nose in confusion. How could some petty smell momentarily allow his brain to subside his hate for her into something else?

Angry, he grabbed his super glue and started to squeeze the transparent yet deadly substance onto the inside cap of the shampoo. Paul waited a few minutes then took the pliers and tested the glue's strength. It wouldn't move; it was perfect.

He put her shampoo back in the shower where it originally was and left the bathroom. Just as he was about to enter his bedroom, he noticed something. Some super glue got on his pants.


He fixated his entire attention onto the little clear blotch of glue plastered to his pants, slowly dripping and drawing its way down his pants, getting everything sticky in the process. Paul wasn't even entirely sure it was super glue. It could have been some of her shampoo or even water. His brows arched seriously, attempting to determine what the substance was. Not in full consciousness, he touched it. The moment when the substance prickled his skin, he felt it consume his flesh, latching his own finger to his pants. His eyes parted and he breathed, "Shit!"

It was the glue.

He began rubbing in vigorous circles against the fabric, somehow thinking that it was working. It wasn't. His rubbing stopped immediantely when he heard a distinct mumble. Trembling, he turned around and his eyes became wide. Dawn had just emerged from her bedroom, rubbing her eyes sleepily.

He cursed violently under his breath. Things were becoming much worse.

A very somnolent Dawn wasn't quite what to make of the situation. Paul had a weird, stressed look on his face and one hand awkwardly stuck to his pants. She narrowed her eyes gently as they stood in silence staring at one another. A few minutes passed and she spoke tentatively, her voice coarse from waking up mid-sleep, "W-What... what are you doing?"

He maneuvered his inept hand out of plain sight, still in a somewhat strange stance as he fumbled over his words. She studied him curiously in her sleep induced stare, unconsciously doting the ghastly, but adorable look on his face. Her state of dreamlike illusion reasoned her inability to further question the situation. As she elongated her choice of fixation, Paul's enmity towards her idleness grew. His perception was slipping from reach, leaving him with scattered strands of intellectual capability. He wished he had a better hold on the situation, but with anxiety amplified to uncouthly levels, it was difficult to even simply navigate his own thoughts.

"Why are you up?" he caustically marked, his voice scratchy and pitched higher than usual.

In a slumberous fashion, her thoughts fluttered erratically until she finally forgot what Paul had asked. She looked at him dumbly. "So, I'm going to talk a shower."

"What, why?" he said hastily, glad that she didn't pursue her original quarry yet hoping that she would find his surprise when he wasn't there.

"Because I-I... w-want one," she stuttered nonchalantly as she strolled into the bathroom.

"Whatever," he muttered.

Paul was anxious. He plopped himself on the couch of the living room and glared at the impending danger that was his hand-pant situation. He was about to go to the kitchen and soak it in hot water, but her scream stopped him.

Dawn giggled nasally to herself and gawked upon the peculiar bottle of super glue standing on the sink counter. I'm not that stupid! She may have been somewhat sleepy, but she knew when something was up. Did he really believe that she was that stupid that she wouldn't know if he super-glued her shampoo cap? He even left the glue in the bathroom! All you had to do was put the pieces together!

She continued to let the hot slivers of water pelt her naked body as she laughed at Paul's work. She smiled drunkenly and replied back, "Hey Paul," she started, trying not to giggle, "There's actually something really wrong."


"Well, your wallet's on the floor."


She snickered to herself, amused at his audible reaction. However, all giggles and any form of levity ceased abruptly when she made eye-contact with Paul. He had actually entered the bathroom. He actually believed her little lie. In full consciousness, she felt her face grow warm and her pulse accelerate. She was completely naked and he was looking straight at her. "So, ugh…," she started nervously.

She didn't need to continue because just as she began talking, he passed out again. She felt that it would have been weird if she continued to take a shower while Paul was unconscious on the floor, so she wrapped a towel around her body and left.

Phase Three: Towel Problem

Days had dwindled by and Paul and Dawn were becoming less reluctant to be around the other; they actually started to want to hang out. Although, both were averse to admit that their 'relationship' had only gotten better due to their recent bathroom incidents which, at origin, really puzzled them both. It wasn't until the highest valued commodity went missing when feelings became mutually expressed.

Paul had decided to take a shower, without taking notice on whether or not there would be a towel that readily available for him when he was done. He disregarded the minor fraction of stupidity and tried to comprehend why the bathroom held absolutely no towels. There shouldn't have been reason as to why the bathroom didn't have some, not even a mere hand cloth. He started to get frustrated at his options. He could walk out naked and rush to his bedroom, hopefully going unnoticed by Dawn or just stay in the bathroom and see what would happen.

He was about to proceed with the 'running out naked and hopefully no one sees' plan, but was stopped when he heard the knob of the door rattle. His eyes expanded and he became tense. "Damn it, I didn't lock the door?" He instantly scolded himself at his idiocy. Locking the damn door was the least he could do, but he even failed that. The minor fraction of stupidity was no longer a fraction, but a huge violation on bathroom protocol.

The door loudly swung open and Dawn entered.

He crouched in the tub, attempting to make himself as small as possible. He watched her with concentrated focus. His eyes followed the brush that combed her hair, the earrings that pierced through the holes of her ears, the necklace that latched around her dainty neck, and her eyes that made contact with his.


Her body violently retracted at the sight of the naked Paul. Her sporadic and very jagged course of movement made her plummet backwards onto the cold limestone of the bathroom floor. The crash was hard and painful, but it wasn't enough to even momentarily wipe the blaring picture of Paul naked in the bathtub. The small scan of Paul's male pride was lethal. No disinfectant could pure her eyes and strangely, she didn't really desire it. Getting up and standing upon weak knees, turned towards the wall, she spoke tensely, "P-Paul, what are you doing crouched in the bathtub?"

He wouldn't allow himself to look at her, knowing it would only further hurt his pride. "Why the hell aren't there any towels in here?" he growled.

"I don't know!" she squeaked, her voice dripping in abhorrence.

Paul remained hunkered against the basin's corner. As he was about to stand up, an object stopped him. A toothbrush. He looked at Dawn incredulously. "Don't stand up! Put some clothes on!" she screeched, throwing random objects at him, not knowing anything else to do.

"Well then get me some damn clothes! What the hell am I going to do with a tooth-brush? I'm not going to brush my ass with it!"

She became worried and wasn't quite sure what to do. Her thoughts were disheveled as they weakly cranked to unveil a solution. With a long awaited 'click' of mental works, she thought of something. Chaotically, she ripped her jacket off and tossed it at him. His eyes narrowed accusingly. "You want me to use your horrid pink jacket as a substitute for pants?"

Once her jacket was around his waist, he looked at her. It was slightly awkward and Paul was mortified. A grown ass man, he was solely shielding his pride with a small pink jacket in a bathroom that defied practicality.

Dawn giggled at Paul's pink doused apparel.

"What?" he growled.

"Whatever kind of look you were going for, you missed terribly."

Paul flicked his tongue. "I'm fucking naked, idiot. I'm not trying to achieve any fashionista look here."

"Yeah, but you still chose to put it on!" Dawn yelped, consumed by giggles.

"Piss off," he jeered.

"Ahhh, don't get stressed now!" she said with a wink.

"I'm wearing your jacket as pants, how can I not be stressed out?"

"Because you kind of look cute," Dawn mumbled, scratching the back of her head.

Paul rolled his eyes. "You are unbelievable."

Phase Four: Jello

Weeks had flown by and, despite sharing a moment, the two were still perplexed to the other's advances. Although, one critical day had changed everything. Within the realms of their bathroom, a major symptom had overtaken the porcelain washtub, causing it to stop working. Not being resourceful in the mechanics of bathtubs, Paul called up Reggie, who had a vast knowledge in the craft of pluming, to get him to fix it. Upon hearing of the news, he agreed immediantely.

"So you have a problem with your bathtub?" Reggie chirped, smiling at his younger brother with fascination.

"Yes," he snapped back, irritated at his positive energy.

Reggie clicked his tongue as his smiled expanded. "Hey, so how's your relationship with Dawn going?"

Paul sighed, "Listen, I'm not going to put up with your crap today, alright? And our relationship is fine, I guess, but that doesn't matter because you're just here to fix my damn bathtub!"

Reggie's joy manifested the air, somehow moving the invisible cleavages of air to hover around his good aura. He knew that his matching-making ability was exceptional when coming to terms with success; it was inevitable: Paul and Dawn were going to become a couple. He only needed one last task to completely tip the boat and initiate the real relationship and the bathtub dilemma provided him with just that. He fabricated the ultimate scheme where the pair would realize their feelings in the bathtub's dominion. He was sure of himself and didn't see failure anywhere in the near future. His plan was impenetrable.

Merely filling a bathtub full of Jello and pushing one in would alert the other and attempt to help, only to be sucked in as well. The two would be helplessly trapped and would become closer than ever, literally.

He started the process slowly, savoring each step as if he was creating some elaborate wedding cake. He filled the bathtub up with ice cold water and ice cubes then emptied about fifty little packets of cherry flavored Jello power. He called out his staraptor to act as an air conditioner and create wind slashes, ultimately making the water transform from a translucent, wet matter to a thick, red glob. It took all of fifteen fragile minutes before the tub was a bank of hardened Jello. Reggie smiled ecstatically and silently cheered at his accomplishment. He then ridded the bathroom of his devices and called Paul into the bathroom.

"So is it fixed?" Paul uttered emotionless, entering the bathroom. He immediately retracted upon entrance, clumsily and in disgusted stupefaction. His face matched that of the tub. His knuckles clenched in a tight mound of impenetrability. His mouth was beamed open, words fleeing verbal capability.

Reggie's smile didn't budge from Paul's exterior deterioration. "So, little Paulie... It's all good!"


Reggie recoiled at Paul's decreasing appropinquity. Just as Paul clutched his shoulder, Reggie overtook his brother and swiveled around, nearly slipping, and roughly thrusted him into the tub. Paul yelled various combinations of swears while heaving himself through the cement-like composition of the red substance. A tentative and very weak simper flashed on Reggie's face as he waved at his brother and immediately scampered from the bathroom. His departing word, "Enjoy!" echoed through the halls of the apartment complex, confusing an unknowing Dawn to great extents.

She heard his yells from the bathroom yet chose to ignore them. Although, having Paul continuously profess colorful slurs of profanity would only get many complaints from neighboring friends. She so very reluctantly took initiative to help Paul out. Her head petered in through the bathroom door, cerulean eyes gently wandering the small space. Once locked on to a very stuck, weary Paul, she gasped, grabbing his attention. She ran over to the tub and keeled beside him. Her eyes inspected from a closer vicinity, quite confused at the predicament. "What... what happened?"

His head hung low while his was breath wrangled. "I don't know."

She didn't need any further speculation or inquisition beyond what she knew of the situation because she just wanted to help him out. Her eyes briefly met his and she shed a light, mangled smile. Breaking eye-contact, she softly grabbed Paul's arm and began to pull. To her dismay, the mysterious red element was incredibility sticky and didn't have plans of releasing Paul. This made her pull harder. Every thrust she did to try to pull him out only furthered the pain that rung up his arm, corrupting the fluidity of his joints. She cringed every time he groaned and desperately didn't want to put him through any more pain than he needed to. In thinking that propelling herself up would somehow work, she firmly placed her feet up against the tub and started to pull. Unfortunately, as an effect, the elasticity of the Jello flicked her pulling inwards, making her unintentionally spring into the tub. She had collided straight into Paul, plastering their bodies together.

The stared at one another intensely, not really having a choice. Both spoke not a single word, not really needing to. Paul saw Dawn's inquisitive plead of desire through her eyes as she saw his. It was indescribable. Their connection, their attraction, their mutuality, everything shattered intelligibly in one colossal mass of mental affirmation. They both knew. Staring at one another only lasted for so long before their closeness required the need to explore and express their true feelings. They completely disregarded their predicament, their hatred for Reggie, and their differences. Their chemistry was inevitable and yet they completely ignored it's approach.

Dawn wrung her hands around Paul's neck and they engaged in a deep, passionate kiss.

Reggie was never the problem, the bathroom was.