fic: pokemon [ash/misty]
A note from the author: Maria, I'm so happy to finally use this icon! This fic was the first one of the batch that I wrote, and I'm really happy with the way it turned out. At first I thought writing an Ash/Misty fic would be hard, but once I got into it, I couldn't stop! Anyway, I hope this is as much fun to read as it was it write!
For: Maria
Fandom: Pokémon; Ash/Misty
Prompt: First kiss
Title: Three Kisses (Minus One)
Author: Alisa
Word Count: 808
Rating: K+/PG
Summary: Three kisses Misty didn’t get and one she plans on getting.
Three Kisses (Minus One)
1
Her first kiss-which she doesn’t like to think of as her first kiss at all, since it came from Brock-was both unexpected and welcomed.
It was warm and trusting and just a little peck on the forehead, the kind a little girl would receive from her father as he tucked her into bed at night, full of love and friendship. His lips were warm and dry and brought forth a swell of emotion as she thought of saying goodbye to one of her best friends.
The day was cool and moist, glimmers of the summer sun trying to force their way through gray clouds and failing. It reminded her of how she felt-rumbling and raining and at the same time, trying to force the happiness through. Her bag was on her back, ready to go, her Pokémon tucked away safely.
Brock approached her, tightness around his eyes despite the smile on his face. He gathered her up in a bear-hug and swung her around until she squealed-Brock would remind her of her big brother, if she had one.
Then he set her down on her feet, pressed his lips to her brow, and mumbled, “I’m gonna miss you, Misty.”
Ash never really said goodbye.
2
Her second kiss-which she doesn’t like to think of a kiss at all, since both parties must actively acknowledge it as such-was sudden and heartbreaking.
She said something (she doesn’t even remember what), something stupid and pointless and uncharacteristically encouraging, just because she knew it would make him feel better, the babbling, sweet-hearted idiot.
That smile of his-the one she knew so well and loved so much, that lopsided grin-blossomed across his face as his eyes lit up with something she couldn’t quite name if she wanted to, but something that was irrevocably him.
And then, out of the blue, he launched himself at her and tied his hands behind her neck and swung her around ‘til she saw nothing but spots and two twinkling brown eyes, winking at her in delight.
His lips (was her brain making that ringing noise in her ears because she just couldn’t concentrate) were suddenly at her face and brushing against her cheek and a tiny squeak came from somewhere, she suspected her mouth, and then-
He was gone, dancing with Brock, Pikachu squished between them, a pink almost (but not quite) painting itself across his cheeks. And she stood, her hand halfway to her cheek, frowning because she knew it wasn’t a kiss unless he thought so too.
3
Her third kiss-which she doesn’t like to think of a kiss at all, because it wasn’t how she wanted it to be (or with who she wanted it to be with)-was sweet and utterly uninspiring.
His lips (oh what was his name again?) came down on hers in the gentlest of touches, all sugar and restraint and soft whispers. It was lovely, for a not-a-kiss, and it made her warm inside. But she could feel (or was it hear? She can’t remember) the gentle hissing as her heart poured water over the tiny flame in her stomach.
You don’t want this, it hissed, in that familiar, wearied voice. You don’t want him.
And she knew the tired voice was right.
- 1
It’s been months since she last saw him, maybe years, she can’t keep track of time anymore. All she knows is that it feels like decades since she’s heard his voice, seen his eyes, remembered the exact way his hat smashed down his hair into that perfect bedhead.
He doesn’t look that different, for all the time they’ve been apart. But then again, she notices, he looks very different too. His hair is a little longer, his cheekbones a little more pronounced, his eyes a little more devilish. His smile a little more captivating.
He doesn’t hug her when he sees her; she doesn’t hug him back. Instead, he takes a minute to study her. She waits self-consciously (a hand on her hip, a tug at her lips, a disguise that’s always worked) as his eyes slide over her in a way that’s just a bit too familiar for her taste.
“What?” she can’t help but snap. She doesn’t mean to (not much).
He doesn’t seem to notice the hostility-it’s a trait of hers he’s long gotten used to. He lets his eyes finish their examination at her face.
“You look… different,” he decides, his eyes catching her reluctant ones. And then, like a ray of sunshine through the most awkward of reunions, he smiles her smile.
She scowls his scowl, her lips moving in a way they haven’t moved in a long time, and she knows-this time, things are going to be different.
She might get her first kiss after all.