Pairing: Ash/Misty
Rated: M (Suggestive themes, alcohol use)
Genre: Humor/Romance
Summary: In which Ash drinks a little too much. One-Shot.
XOXs
Reasons people drink alcohol; a mental list, written and narrated by Ash Ketchum. He rolled his eyes from his seat at the bar.
The first reason was because of celebration!To party and observe big accomplishments—or in this case, Ash taking runner-up in the most recent league championships! He took a swig of the rum and coke Gary set down for him.
Or, because Misty looked way too distracting in that.
The second reason was because of peer pressure! Everyone loves peer pressure, especially when his friends threw in his face that he was nineteen and still a rookie in the drinking field—most of his friends were drinking before they were sixteen; Ash never found the time for it. Traveling between regions wasn't as easy as he made it out to be, after all. He took another drink, eyes stuck on the female on the other side of the room.
Or maybe it was because her shorts were just a little too-short.
Had they always been that short? He swallowed another drink, and swore to himself.
The third reason was because of sadness! If Ash had been Brock tonight, he would be drinking specifically for that—mainly because the older male could never steal a date, but also because he failed his most recent exam at the college—too many girls made Brock mentally a dull boy, and overly distracted. Ash snorted at his own joke, lost in the gyrating music around him.
Or maybe sometimes it was because her shirt was a little too small.
Ash threw back yet another drink beside Gary who made sure his old friend wasn't left hanging before he scampered off for his own adventures on the dance floor. No, they, his friends, couldn't just let him suffer in his own misery, could they? They had to make sure he was actually drinking. He couldn't just pretend to drink as he had in the past.
The final reason was becuase of courage. Nothing made him stupider, made anyone stupider, quite as quick as a few shots of liquid courage.
But who knows, it might have been the way she licked her lips when she stared him at the bar.
She was a horrible influence.
Horrible.
Horrible. He added for emphasis, rubbing the back of his scalp, shying away from her glance.
He wasn't so sure when he started to notice Misty; it couldn't have been recently, they rarely saw each other. Was it when they met Rudy? Or was it when Gary started to take an interest in her?
Maybe it was when he hit puberty? She did start to make fun of him when he would call her—always telling him his voice was an octave too low. However, it might have also been when she hit puberty, and those curves took away the only remaining boy-like features she had left on her body.
It might have been when Brock told him that Misty had suitors.
Hell, it might have even been thirty minutes ago when Ash has his first shot of whiskey and she laughed at him for choking on it.
Actually, and it was probably just the alcohol thinking for him, it was probably back when they were kids—he always noticed Misty. How could he not? It wasn't like she was subtle in anyway, she practically screamed for his attention—didn't she?
No, it was the other way around. Maybe that was why he noticed her so much.
She practically ignored him.
Maybe it was the way her shoulders were always higher than other girls—the way her chin poked up proudly, and the curl of her lips: always smirking back at him when she caught him staring —what? Like he could help himself?
This was her fault, after all.
"Let me taking you out for drinks" She had asked him yesterday. Didn't tell him everyone would be here, though.
And by everyone; the whole damn league might have shown up. Rivals from ten years ago made a fond appearance for his runner-up status. Everyone really knew how to make second place feel like first place.
But that was beside the point.
The point was...
Her long hair flicked over her shoulder as she curled her pink lips into a furious pout at something May said.
What was his point again?
His eyebrows knit together in concentrated frustration, and he focused hard on his thoughts which seemed to race sixteen places at once. Chaos in every crevice of his mind—spinning out of control. He was walking before his brain was caught up, or the world, for that matter.
It might have been the way she looked at him; not past him, not through him—not up at him—but at him. As equals. As friends.
As best friends.
Or maybe more?
What was he saying again? His mouth was uncharacteristically dry, a sensation he only had after walking for several days. How many drinks has he had to evoke this way of thinking? The world was spinning—all of it, the lights were a blur and everything was a mess—everything but her.
"Misty." he mumbled determined to say something; what that was, he had no righteous hell of the right mind to say, but he wanted to say something to her. Maybe that he disliked the way she pouted, because it was too distracting—or maybe that her shirt was too tight, and her shorts were too short? Maybe it was because she was too distracting, and this was why he didn't like her to visit.
Puberty looked way too good on her—but that was probably just Brock talking. Or the alcohol.
"What's up?" She asked forwardly, smiling at him. That damn, sultry smile—beaming with a cool confidence. Mixed with the red tint of her cheeks from the alcohol, she looked like too much.
Too much.
Staring at her sea-green eyes, dusted with a haze of her own liquid courage, Ash felt a pang in his stomach as the world came to a sudden braking stop. Oh now, he toppled over, holding his stomach as a lurch and wave of nausea flood through his system and out onto the floor.
"ASH!" she screamed, nearly making him go deaf as the scent of retched bile found its way to his nostrils.
Good job, Ash. He puked all over Misty's feet, and her legs, maybe some of her blouse? He was too nervous to look up—mainly because he hurled again.
Oh, the wonderful things his friends would say about him tomorrow.
The stories they would tell.
XOXs
"I am fine." He muttered into the sink beside Misty—where he had followed her into the girls lavatory for no particular reason other than to apologize a million times and complain that he felt sick.
Oh, and that he liked to tell her this was her fault—since she was the one who bought him the first round. And the second.
And third.
Subtly, or not, he couldn't tell, he glared at his long time friend with such a snarl that she had to fight the urge to roll her eyes.
"I didn't tell you to take shots, and I didn't tell you to drink what ever concoction Gary was feeding you."
"Rum and coke." He sputtered proudly.
"Oh lord." Misty grunted, brushing her pale wrist against the sweat of her forehead. "It's no wonder."
"It hardly tasted like alcohol." He was suddenly very close to her, watching each wrinkle form under her eyes as her face scrunched up. She pushed him away.
"You should really not be in the girls bathroom." She grunted in her defense as she watched another woman leave, glaring at Misty and Ash.
"Meh. It's cleaner in hereee." he slurred eagerly, nearly falling on the sink. Misty sighed, watching her old friend stumble about like a...like a drunk.
She pinched the bridge of her nose once more before glancing downward at her legs—thanking the heavens that she had decided to wear shorts after all—her shoes were ruined, but that was a lot better than walking around in puke covered pants the rest of the night. Skin could wash, shoes could be thrown away.
She glanced at her pokegear for the first time that night, already a quarter after midnight, she might call it an early day, save herself and Ash the trouble of explaining themselves to the staff for why they were loitering in a restroom, of all places. She wasn't quite as trashed as Ash was, but she was far from sober. The redhead simply handled her liquor quite a bit better than Ash.
"You drive me crazy." Ash finally muttered, eying her from his awkward position between a hand dryer and paper towel dispenser.
"Why's that?" Misty mumbled, approaching him without her shoes on. Ash snorted at her painted toes, and flung his arms at her.
"MISTY, you can't walk around without shoes." He shouted, practically picking her up. Her face flushed a deep scarlet, and her eyes twitched.
With only the tips of her toes touching the floor, she wriggled in Ash's arms. "I can, and I want to." She muttered breathlessly, but he didn't flinch—in fact he sniffed once, and then again. Was he smelling her?
"Put me down, Ash." She ordered, but he did not comply.
He hummed against her collarbone. "You always smell sooooo nice. Like lavender—but with a bunch of chlorine and flowers."
"I'm glad you've noticed." She grunted sarcastically.
"But sometimes you smell like an athlete—because you are one, rrrrrrrright?" he mumbled, breath brushing against her collarbone and chest; at first, the warmth sent shivers down her spine until the scent of his puke-ridden breath made her nose hairs burn.
"Sometimes you smell like vomit. Ash, let go of me." She barked, placing her hands against his face and giving one solid push.
She landed on her feet, though the same couldn't be said about Ash, who fell backwards rather comically, and landed head first against one of the stalls.
Crazy. Because she always managed to somehow injure him. She winced when he bounced back up right away; rubbing the top of his head and blinking innocently at her. She staggered backwards a bit the rush of gravity heavier than usual.
"I think we should get you home. Delia will be worried." Misty tried to lift the boy, but his fingers were like water, and he dead weighted in her arms.
"Don't wanna." he grunted, refusing the idea. "I wanna stay here."
Misty knelt beside him, heaving a loud sigh while her forearms rested on her knees.
"You want to sleep on the floor of the females washroom. In a bar." She paused for added effect before adding: "Next to period pads and tampons?"
"Yesh!" he smiled widely at her, and she hung her head in despair as he sat up—clearly against the idea—but so far down stream he probably wasn't sure what he was saying.
Sure he knew what he was saying—she looked great in those shorts.
And that might have come out of his mouth if not for the very next instant, she lugged his right arm over her shoulders, and heaved him to his feet—the strength of this woman still surprised him, even if he was a few inches taller than her now. She could still lift him.
"Not so fast." He mumbled, feeling the sudden rumble of his stomach.
Now, Misty could use another drink, and she almost felt like she would need one before she got Ash home. She giggled though; she was never the belligerent drunk—that was her sisters; in fact, drinking found a way to calm Misty. The hang overs were the hard part.
"Home." Misty barked, pointing to the door, and with a great deal of effort, she helped the swaying Ash to the bathroom door, where he stopped to touch her hips and press his back into the black door.
"But you're here already?" his eyebrows knit cutely.
"Oh please." Misty snorted. "Home is not a bar."
Ash's face scrunched up in thought. "It's not?"
"No." Misty grinned. "Home is where your bed is."
"So your home is my bed, too?"
She all but choked on her laughter as she shoved him out of the swinging doors. "Shut up, Ash."
XOXS
The cool night air did nothing to sober the duo, if anything, the longer they walked, the worse they got. Somewhere between sharing old stories and laughing like drunkards down the street, Ash piped up.
"I have to pee."
"Can't you hold it?" Misty murmured while Ash shook his head violently, doing his rendition of the "pee pee" dance.
"Well," She grunted, trying to steady her own eyes long enough to point to a row of bushes near the forest on the way to his mom's house. "Over there. Go quickly before someone sees you."
"Yes ma'am." He muttered as he struggled across the road without Misty to lean on. Walking in a straight line was clearly out of the picture, but an "S" line was okay, right?
Ash unzipped the fly of his jeans while Misty checked her gear phone again; they were making good time-at this rate, they would get there after Delia went to sleep, and she would never even notice that her little boy was ever intoxicated.
"Look Misty, I can spell my name!" He turned around, and she looked over at him, immediately regretting her decision.
"ASH PUT THAT AWAY."
XOXs
"Brock told me I should be nicer to you." Ash mumbled—he was now not allowed to touch her with his hands, primarily because she was convinced he had gotten urine on them somehow—though he tried to assure her that he did not. He wasn't an animal.
"Did he?" Misty mumbled, recalling Brock's attempts to pick up women at the bar and snickering.
"Yeaah." he grunted with pride, and inhaled. "He even gave me pointers."
"Oh, this should be good." she said with a snort, knowing that Ash would tell her whether she wanted to know or not.
He began. "If you were impeccable, you'd be a chicken."
Her face scrunched up; "You mean, if I was a chicken, I'd be impeccable?"
"Right, right." He paused. "Did your license get crazy for -hiccup- being suspended?"
Misty snorted, listening to the failed-cheesy pickup line, right out of Brock's hand book of 'being nice to the ladies'.
"I think you said it wrong." She hummed cheerfully, eyes full of mirth.
"Right, it was something like crazy license suspended for driving." He tried, though it made perfect sense to him, it did not reflect the same in Misty. She laughed loudly.
"Oh Ash." She muttered, seeing his house in the distance—just down the small incline. Once there, she could get him in bed—tuck herself in on the guest bed, and call it a night. Sleep this off.
"If you were words on a page you'd be a baby."
She snorted unlady like caught off guard, "-What?" She chortled, looking at him from the corner of her eye. He tucked his face closer to hers as he looked ahead, struggling to remember the correct words he was told by Brock. Perhaps Brock should have told him before he was already drinking?
"Do you bake?"
"You know I don't" she offered dryly.
"-because you're oven!"
Trying not to laugh, she shot him a look; not a glare, not a look of frustration; a look. "I think you mean because I'm hot."
"Are you?" Ash said, rather confused.
"Mist-you'ra 'earing like, nothin' at all." He said matter-of-fact, and Misty let out a bellowing laughter while Ash stared at her legitimately confused. Tongue in cheek, and head low—the slurring began, as if a light in his mind has been turned off. Misty never suffered from speech impediment, and while she believed Ash wouldn't either—she might have spoken too soon.
"Please don' remove an'more. I do not think I could handle such a thing right now." Her eyebrows quirked.
"Why not?"
"'ecase you're hot."
She laughed; once again, the words left her mouth: "Oh Ash."
XOXs
Misty always prided herself on her ability to hold her alcohol—or maybe it was because she drank too much too often? But Ash was managing about as well as a horsea fighting a zaptos. They were at his doorstep when they realized that maybe home wasn't such a good idea.
"The world's all over the place, and you're my anchor." Oh, those lines weren't going to stop anytime soon, were they? She huffed, her head already beginning to ache as her world turned.
"Okay. We just have to sneak up the stairs and to your room without being noticed." Because there was no way Ash was even capable of pretending to be sober. He was pointing at imaginary butterfree as they spoke.
"Noooooo" Ash grinned, flopping his arm around her shoulders and giving her quite possible the most awkward, spacial invading hug he had ever graced her with. "I think you have always wanted to sneak around with me." he said hotly, his breath blowing against her ear.
"That one doesn't even make sense."
"Your face." He shot her a dirty glare, or at least his best attempt. Misty snorted. What did she get herself into? "'ssss gorgeous."
Caught off guard, her neck snapped at him. "What?"
He didn't seem to notice her alarm. "Dawn said I should have bought you a gift."
Sweat dripped from the back of her neck, the adoring personality he had was cute at first, but was now bordering on the edge of her patience the longer she went without a drink.
"Why would she say that?" Misty murmured, deciding that even though Delia's house might not have been safe, it was the only place they had right now. Ash pushed in first, with Misty tumbling in after him.
"Wash up down here." She said, leading him away from the stairs.
"She says that girls like flowers." Ash muttered on, blinking and speaking almost in tongue as Misty turned the tap on for him to wash his hands. He did so easily enough; even splashed his face—and the mirror, and Misty, and half of his shirt with cold water. She growled, trying to wring out the top of her blouse—when Ash looked at her, he could see the faint coloring of her red bra beneath her overly-tight and now wet tank top.
"bu' ss I 'ways thought you 'oudl 'ike 'som'thin 'ore practical." Whatever that means, Misty thought while taking his arm and pushing him forward.
Misty sighed, now guiding him up the stairs; where his room wouldn't come fast enough—a drunk taking care of a drunk wasn't her idea of fun. If she was sober, she would at least be without the massive headache; and able to better laugh at him. Right now, the struggle up the stairs for the two of them was rough enough.
"Like what?" Misty whispered in return; his train of thought derailed.
"Whadda like?" He asked with genuine interest as she wrestled with him up the stairs.
"Water pokemon."
"Me, too." Ash smiled lovingly, a strange sparkle reaching his eyes as Misty blew a strand of hair from her face. She didn't speak to him again until he was in his room; trying to fall flat on his bed. Misty heaved, her shoulders tight and sore from carrying him so many blocks—damn Pallet Town and their shitty taxi services.
"Misttt." He whined, flopping onto his bed. "'m'er'" He motioned for her to come to him; well, he flailed his arm at her, which was clearly good enough, bravely taking a few steps towards him.
"What?" She offered when Ash sprung up, holding a box of goodies from beneath his bed.
"I wanted to give you this!" he grinned, holding it out to her. She recognized the box right away.
"Ash, these are your trophies." She murmured, eyebrows raised.
"And that's why I want, yyyyoouuu to 'ave 'em. Because they are important." He said while poking her on the nose. She scrunched her nose up cutely, and then shook her head, discarding the box quickly to the night stand and deflating his optimism.
"You 'no like?"
"I do. But you're drunk, and obviously not thinking." she countered, though the same could be said about her. At least she wasn't past the edge of no return.
"I disagree—I have never been thinking more clearly!" He argued with a grin. His voice was too loud, so Misty hissed at him, holding her index finger to her lips to shush him as she traced back to his bed room door with a stagger and gently shut the door.
When she turned back, he had all but taken off his boxers.
"ASH!" she gasped. "What are you doing?!"
"Shhhh." He hissed back at her mockingly. "'m getting' comfortable—and m'clothes 'ere wet." He muttered, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. To strip in front of her. But he didn't crawl into bed right away.
Oh, no, no, contrary. He had other plans.
""er top is wet, too." he grumbled, as if it made perfect sense for her to remove her top for a few splashes, well, a lot of splashes of water.
"Ash-" she hummed in rejection, but he had already jerked her shirt over her chest so quickly that she had little time to react and pull it back down before panic set in. It wasn't like he couldn't see through it anymore anyways.
"Misty! You can't sleep in wet clothes." he half-scolded her, wagging a shaking finger her direction.
"I'm not. I'll change." She was embarrassed when she pointed to the door, taking protective steps away from him.
"But you can't leeeeeave."
"I can and I will!" She hissed quietly, her face as red as a tomato.
"But your home is where my bed is!"
She gawked at him, stunned. "I said that your home is where your bed is."
"I don't think so..." He muttered, and Misty slapped her forehead, of course that would be what he chose to remember.
"It'll be like old times, when you used to sleep next to me beside the fire!" He offered, racing towards his wardrobe to fetch a large shirt for his old friend.
"'ee, you can 'ear my shirt." He said happily while flailing his arms.
"Ash...Your mom would kill me."
"Sh' loves you." He said so matter-of-fact, so naturally that Misty's face turned beet red and she sucked in her lips as he back pressed against his door.
"''re all she talks 'bout when I 'all her." he mumbled while tugging on a black shirt over his torso—at least he had no intention of sleeping with his finely toned abs poking out for the world to see.
Her heart was racing, had it always been racing? His was too.
Maybe it was wrong of her—to take advantage of him when he was drunk..but he was so... open.
"And what does she say?" Misty mused, eyes narrowed as Ash insistently waged the overly large, dry shirt in her face. She took it from him to appease his nature as he flopped the distance to his bed and sprawled out over the comforter.
"Red haired babies..." Ash muttered into his arm, Misty came closer to see his face, he was blushing at the thought—or that might have been the alcohol, she had a hard time telling the difference.
"You're not going to puke again, are you?"
"Mmm." he muttered, holding his stomach now that he was laying flat.
He struggled to find the correct words: "Som'thin' is wrong with my eyes..." Ash muttered, glancing up at her shyly while she looked down at him fearfully. Did he go blind? She had heard that once—that alcohol could make someone go blind, though before she could ask such a silly question; he poked her on the nose once again.
"'cause I 'an't take my eyes off ya'" He muttered awkwardly before cowering behind his pillows again.
Flushed, she pursed her lips, ignoring the raging headache pounding against her temples. "But you just did." He twisted his head at her, gasping.
"I did what?" he muttered, surprised by her words—not having a clue what he was thinking only seconds ago. Apparently, his short-term memory was horrible drunk and sober. Worse drunk.
"Never mind." She laughed, straightening up her posture. A fluke. He pointed at her accusingly.
"I can see your bra."
He earned himself a punch to the head with such a comment, and he cradled the knot while she turned away from him and tugged the overly sized shirt over her head. The difference of sizes hiding her short-shorts.
"mmbetter." He grunted while resting his head to look at her. Eyes heavy, he stared, obviously, blatantly, stared.
"Puberty looks good on you." he managed with a cheeky grin.
Shocked, she spun on her heels to face him. "Ash, you're dr—Oh, right." She said, slapping her Forehead. He opened his arms wide.
"What?"
"How come we never hug?" He asked sheepishly, and Misty's face fell.
"...Because." She started weakly, and he grinned expectantly as she added: "You're not wearing pants."
"Boxers are pants." he tried to argue, though her mouth twitched—fighting the smile. She had to fight this urge, after all. They were both drunk.
"I can't believe you wear boxers."
"'ts better than what you're not wearing."
She slapped her chest in surprise. "What?" she gasped.
"On my floor." He said, a pained expression.Alleviation washed over Misty's face; Oh, another failed pick-up line.
"Go to sleep." she ordered.
"Dun wanna." he debated, but his eyes were already shut and she could hear the start of heavy breathing.
"I dun care." She mocked him, and then leaned over, steering clear of his arms, to kiss him on the temple. "Thanks for being so sweet." She mumbled happily, a chaste grin over her lips. Ash's mouth fell ajar at her movements, and he watched her with such an intensity, she couldn't help but giggle.
XOXS
Crazy. She makes him crazy. His mind barked at him while he impulsively touched the place where her lips touched his temple; the warmth was still there—but that might have been the blush on his cheeks. He couldn't be sure.
It might have even been the thoughts in his head.
Damn it, go to sleep. He thought to himself, though his drunken mind had other intentions. He was on his feet nearly five minutes later, or had it been more? He lost track since Misty left his bed room. He traced his way to his door, staggering like a zombie through his door frame, and then shuffling quietly—In Ash's mind it was quietly, in reality, he bumped the wall six times. He was anything but graceful—and found his way the guest bedroom's door knob. He twisted it open, and barged in unannounced.
He stepped over the first a hurdle on the floor, or stepped on, he wasn't so sure, and then staggered through the room until collapsing onto the white comforters where her red hair poked out beneath. She had been asleep—which meant much more time than he thought had passed. He watched her dutifully.
"A-Ash, what are you doing?" She stammered through squinted eyes. His face was only centimeters away from hers.
"I'm going to kiss you." He announced proudly, and then dipped his face in—only to miss and fall into the pillow—his depth perception was off, by about a foot.
"Err." Misty grunted while scooting away, unsure if she was dreaming or not. She rubbed her eyes, smearing the make-up she hadn't bothered to wash off, and sat up to look at his righteously confused face. He sat up, and tried again.
"You haven't brushed your teeth." She denied him nervously, dodging his advances by leaning further into the bed.
He challenged her. "Neither have you."
"You threw up." She countered.
He snorted; "So?"
"That's gross." she whined.
"Shut up and kiss me." His eyes rolled.
"No." She hissed and Ash pressed his arms against hers.
"Why?" she leaned back when he tried to lean in.
"Because!"
"Whyyyyy?" he whined once more, lips puckered.
"Because I-"
"Kiss me."
Her face was scarlet, her nerves of steel broken; her body broken while he pressed her into the soft of the bed—only, it wasn't soft, no, her head was rested on a lump—on a body. "No!"
Her shrill voice caused a disturbance in the air before his lips crashed onto hers in a sloppy, wet kiss that tasted like some horrible combination of yesterday's lunch and today's bar. He didn't smoke, but his mouth tasted like cigarettes—courtesy of a open tobacco bar. His body was heavy on top of hers; even after hours of sleep—he was clearly still inebriated.
When they separated, when Ash finally let her breath, it was to the sound of shrieks and frustrated groans.
"Can you do that somewhere else?!" Dawn hissed from her half of the bed, launching a pillow at Ash's face and knocking him over. From the edge of the bed, May and Bonnie watched with sleepy eyes, and Misty watched in horror; back still flush against the bed, head against Dawn's covered legs. Her shirt, his shirt was raised to just beneath her breast, and her face was scarlet.
Ash felt suddenly three times more sober. Oh, that's why. He glanced at the digital clock—it was well past 4:00am, which meant that everyone was home, at least anyone who was staying here. He tugged on his collar.
"It's about time. But couldn't you have done that in your room?" May groaned while holding her head and flopping back onto her comforter on the floor and covering her face with her pillow.
Mortified, Ash stared at Misty who gave him a weak shrug in response; as well as cherry-cheeked grin.
Well, she did try to warn him.
XOXs
To say that Ash remembered anything would very much an understatement. He remembered everything from puking on Misty's shoes, to stumbling into her bed room only a few hours ago to swap spit. However, he wasn't going to tell anyone that. He would sooner die. No, if anyone asked, he woke up without a single memory of last nights events.
When he saw the smiling, mocking faces of his companions sitting in the kitchen at the table, he returned their grins with one that matched it.
"Good morning!" He called chipper to his friends who were gathered around the table, watching him—he had showered, changed his clothes, and looked like Ash. No questions about it.
Dawn wasn't as impressed. Her head was killing her.
"Shhhhhh." She grunted, holding her coffee mug to her head while Paul smirked beside her.
Brock wagged his eyebrows. "D'ya remember anything?"
"Remember what?" Ash asked, looking at the breakfast that was waiting for him on the table. He took a seat beside Serena who watched him with a pale, almost lost facial expression as he hummed about his normal morning ritual. No, by that point everyone, excluding Delia, of course, had heard about the event. Thanks to Bonnie.
Misty, who was hording the coffee was like a statue, watching Ash with one eyebrow raised. He hadn't even looked at her yet—which was odd—she grinned in response and sipped her coffee black. She knew. She always knew.
Brock looked disappointed. "You don't remember anything?"
"I remember peeing on the road and trying to nap in the females restroom. After that, it's gone." He said calmly, almost panicked. "I didn't fall asleep in there, did I?" he asked, eyes wide in mock-terror.
"I didn't do anything weird, did I?" He asked to land the finishing blow.
Serena choked. "Nothing!" She said in unison with Clemont, who shared a frantic look with one another.
Bonnie pursed her lips.
"Nothing with kissy-kissy?"
Ash looked appalled. "What?"
Apparently, he was a lost cause. Of course, after the amount he drank—no one was really surprised. No one except for Misty who smacked her lips.
XOXs
Misty waited until after breakfast—to get Ash at his most honest, the key was to do it away from everyone else. If he wanted to sell that story; he shouldn't have led with such a chipper attitude. No one was that okay after drinking so much—especially not their first time. If the lack of hang over was an act—everything must have to. That was her logic; or maybe she was in denial.
Maybe she didn't want him to forget.
"So, Ash. Which part did you say you could remember again?" Misty asked, coming up from behind Ash while he stood on the back deck's balcony, staring out. He had rushed out of the house the very moment pots and pans from breakfast started to clink and bang together. He had been cradling his head when Misty approached.
"Uh, oh, uh. Peeing on the street." He muttered, tearing his eyes away from the flowers below that were painfully interesting. He barely looked at her.
"And?"
"And?" Ash asked. "Oh, washing my face in the woman's washroom."
"But I thought you tried to take a nap?"
"I did, but I didn't nap because you pulled me out of there." He looked at her, the way her eyelids were lowered and her eyebrows were raised so mockingly.
"But I thought you didn't remember that?" She smirked and Ash's face fell.
"...You...you tricked me."
"So, what do you remember?" She grinned, though Ash didn't find the joy in this at all. He tugged on his collar and looked away.
"That's it."
"Now say it while looking at me, and I'll believe you." She grinned, leaning in close. "Or are your eyes too damaged?" She grinned, Ash glared at her coldly.
She would use that against him.
"My eyes are fine." he mumbled, though a slowly crawling blush rose to his cheeks the longer he stared at her face.
"Did you brush your teeth?" She asked, knocking him off guard. He blinked.
"Yes, why?" He responded with an innocent drawl to his words that Misty sweeped up with a proper kiss; one where her hand brushed across his cheeks, his lips weren't covered in slobber—and the taste of alcohol was replaced with orange juice and coffee. Her lips were so soft against his dry ones and his eyes always turned backwards in his head.
She broke it a second later, and Ash's throat fell into the pit of his stomach: Speechless.
"You know, I think drinking might not be for you." Misty quipped with such a grin his stomach ached. Was that butterfrees?
His face steamed. "What gave you that impression?" He asked, rocking on his heels, staring not so subtly at her lips. She grinned like a cat.
"Next time you should make sure we're alone." She mocked him, smirking that devilish little smirk that he could not not notice.
"Maybe next time you should lead with that." He grunted in return.
His eyes shifted to the back door, and then down the ways to the grass field. They were alone right now. Everyone else was inside, recovering from their own hang overs—avoiding the sun at all costs. The heat wave seemed to only make them feel worse, more nauseous. Ash enjoyed it because it made his headache lessen.
His face turned bright red; "You know. Brock said that..."
"The best cure for a hang over is-"
"Yeah." Ash said—not quite drunk enough to use those explicit words anymore.
Misty grinned, a crinkle in her eye that made his stomach do flips as she leaned in closer to him, her lips only a hair from his. He could see the mischievous nature in her eyes as she grinned.
"Hey, Ash." She mused and Ash swallowed nervously.
"Yeah?"
"I'm going to kiss you. Again." She declared nonchalantly before cupping his cheeks and bringing his lips to hers once more, this time, he eagerly accepted and kissed her back.
Perhaps drinking wasn't so bad.
Especially if it gave him a reason to do this.
The top reason, and most important reason to drink on Ash Ketchum's list? Because kissing Misty Waterflower became top priority.
Author's Note:
This one was a request (not sure if they wanted to be mentioned or not because they thought the idea was cliche), and I had a lot of fun writing it, though, I don't really like it all too much (maybe it's because one-shots aren't my favorite? XD)I never really have an opportunity to write a drinking moment like this, because I feel like "getting drunk and confessing" is a cop-out device, so it was pretty fun. I tried to show the deterioration from drinking without actually saying it.
State one: No fucks given.
Stage two: Puke. Everywhere. What do you mean the world is moving?
Stage three: No filter
Stage four: Bad decisions ("hold my beer" or in Ash's case "I'm going to kiss you")
Stage five: Hang over and denial and all things that come with having to be accountable for your actions.
Drinking age is 18(sometimes lower) in most countries outside of the US, most people have their first drink years before that. So, Ash is nineteen. Sue me.
Also, pick up lines. I've had an itch to use them, and I'm so happy I got to write Ash butchering them (thanks, Brock) XD
Next chapter is Razor few DOOM's request!
And then I have a little something I'm needing to get off my chest.
NINT
PS prompts anyone?