Notes1: I don't know how this got much bigger than the drabble it was intended to be, but, uh...some things are just left beyond your control. Most of the time, I should add. Needless to say, I suppose you could say I got carried away with it; it was, for all intents and purposes, meant to be a practice in stream of consciousness without stopping. Unfortunately I could not follow up on it due to work, and by the time I got home I had pretty much lose all drive to continue in that particular format. So I picked up where I left off - right at the end of the first few paragraphs - and here we are.

Notes2: On the other hand, I have a friend here on FFnet - Aphotica - who's been encouraging me to ease into writing more romance/smut and overcoming my general awkwardness regarding the whole shebang. I can't say if he's ever played any of the Tales games (I don't think he has; he's more of an FPS kind of guy who's played Doom and Halo growing up, whereas I played JRPGs such as Super Mario RPG and Final Fantasy IX, Fable: The Lost Chapters, and the occasional FPS such as Mafia: The City of Lost Heaven and Rainbow Six: Rogue Spear), but I think he would approve me slightly turning up the dial a bit here.

Notes3: Doodle is an interesting OC because he's meant to be this character who is pure and always optimistic in First Impressions; no matter what alignment a Hero falls under, he follows strictly out of loyalty and not out of any sense of morality. While he does this here, he gets to show a little more of a low-key persistence (as all dogs are wont to do, since they cannot actually talk like we humans do) for these two dopes to do something yesterday.

However, given how utterly bonkers First Impressions gets sometimes in the way of treating canon character behaviors and in-universe OOC, they may or may not be imagining what they think Doodle is trying to tell them. Maybe. Impressions!verse!Undertale dogs are on a whole different level than canon!Undertale.

"Okay...Okay. I know this seems sudden, after, well, everything we did. And everything we've been through to get to this point, but...just hear me out, okay? Don't talk. J-Just listen, okay?

"Okay.

"So. Um. It's been a while since, um, that day. You know the day when I, uh, walked in on you...ahem, gardening as our ancestors did way back when. Like, prehistoric times. And, well, no one knows about the Leech Finder, I didn't tell anyone...but that's beside the point, alright? So since that day, when I walked in like that and, uh, kind of said I may be, well, interested in your proposition and, uh, getting over the awkwardness of my own nudity that I should've abandoned in my teenage years.

"Well...I'll admit, it's not as bad as it used to be. I mean, the scar's never going to go away, you know? That's...really the only reason I feel the way I do. But whenever I look at you, looked at you...I always admired that. That self-confidence you were exuding. How comfortable you were…even though I'm pretty sure you violated the dress code a hundredfold during the last two years of high school. You know...before...well, after graduation. You went your way, I went my way.

"Honestly, I'm kinda glad you're better now.

"But that's not why we're here. You already know what my thoughts are on all that; you could practically recite them if you wanted to.

"Lemme get back on topic, alright? Alright. So...okay. I admire you. I...I like how you are. I like how you didn't run me out of the house and, I dunno, call the cops on me. Or string me up and…do whatever you did with people that got in your way." She scoffs lightly. "Don't give me that look. I was totally thinking that. You can't read my mind. You've got that look on you, you know? That kind of air that screams 'don't tread on me because I'll stomp right all over you'.

"...Except you didn't. You did the complete opposite and...let's be real here: if it were anyone else, I'm pretty sure I'd refuse them. You...You…." She snuggles deeper into the blankets, buries one cheek against the pillow. "Okay, look. I know it's very, very late for me to be saying this, after everything we did that's led up to this point, but...let me make this clear. I'm only going to say this once."

She takes a deep breath, takes a moment to steel herself.

"You are fine. No. You are straight banging. Be my girlfriend and girl, let me tell you, you'll hear a helluva lot more outta me than you ever will beyond these two doors. You think you've got it made now? Take my hands and I'll show you what heaven's all about!" She licks her lips, swallows, and exhales. "H-How did I do, Doodle?"

"Woof!" Doodle barks, and beats his tail against the mattress. He, too, is under the covers, his head resting comfortably on the pillow. If he were any smaller, he'd be absolutely dwarfed.

"Do you think she'd buy that?"

"Woof!" Thump, thump, thump.

"Oh my God, shut up, you're a liar. That was terrible. Come on! 'Take my hands and I'll show you what heaven's all about'? Ugh!" She puts her head in her hands and folds up into a ball. "Kill me now, Doodle," she pleads, voice muffled by the sheets. "Please. Do the world a favor."

"Woof!" says Doodle, and pushes his nose between her hands to lick her face. IT WILL NOT CHANGE ANYTHING, he seems to say, and he's right. Asking someone, especially a dog, to put her out of a hormone-induced misery she's been experiencing for the past week (holy hell, it feels so much longer than that). On top of that, willing yourself out of existence from sheer embarrassment isn't possible nor feasible to what seems to be a temporary solution. Only Rene Descartes is capable of doing that.

"I can't do it, Doodle. It's too soon. If I'm going to like someone, I need to like them more than for just their body. These things take time. I shouldn't be-"

"WOOF!"

"What do you mean, it's normal? You're a dog! What would you know about human sexuality?"

"Woof," Doodle insists, and kicks his legs out a few times until the blankets are thrown off him.

The stare he gives her is bright and intense, seeming to stare right into the very depths of her soul and being privy to read every little secret laid bare for him.

He smiles at her all the same, eyes crinkling at the corners, tail thumping ecstatically.

Eleanor shrinks back, unable to hold his gaze. She sighs and tucks her head deeper into the pillow. "I'm sorry, boy. I'm just...I'm not ready yet. This is all a bit much for me right now." She sighs, rolls onto her back, stares at the ceiling. "Maybe I should've practiced on the mirror first."

"Woof."

"Oh who am I kidding; of course the mirror won't work. And if I had to do it in front of it, I'd have to be alone." She breathes in, breathes out. "Without you. In the nude. Drapes closed. Door locked. And staring back at myself while imagining Velvet-" She stops, swallowing hard.

Those hips.

Those breasts.

Those abs.

All that wild, dark hair and amber eyes on her, wrists pinned by slender hands, a grin showing the tiniest hint of teeth mere inches from her neck-

"Woof!" says Doodle.

Eleanor huffs and licks dry lips.

Woof, indeed.

She turns on her side and holds out her hands. "Hold me, Doodle."

"Woof!" says Doodle, and scoots over to be folded in her embrace.

"I'll think of something," she murmurs, scratching the fur between his ears. "Maybe."

They close their eyes and drift.

Drift.

(She stirs to the sensation of fingernails raking lightly along her scalp, and of a deep, sultry laughter she has come to associate with wolves on the hunt in a land of quiet snowfall. Pressed up against her, she can feel it vibrate from the swell of her chest and down into her bones.

From one to another, flesh against flesh that's pleasantly warm.

Warm against the scar.

Her eyes fly open.

"I always knew you had it in you," Velvet rumbles, and moves her hands beneath sheathes of long red hair to scratch at her nape.

"How did you get in here," Eleanor asks aloud. It's a phrase in a way that should be a question but at the same time should be a statement; she doesn't have a single idea how she's supposed to inflect it. She's unable to look her in the eye, too, except all of that is on those broad shoulders and that bare sweep of skin, so she wonders—if only very briefly—if this is any better or preferable, manners be damned. "The doors and windows are locked." She takes a moment to keep her breathing steady and the rising tension of hyperventilation at bay. Then, in no small amount of incredulity, "What did I do."

"You're a smooth operator. I almost couldn't believe it was you who made the first move."

"Uwah?"

"But hey, lookit where we're at now. More power to you, and more power for me." Velvet laughs again and slides her hands down until they rest on the small of her back. "Who needs alcohol when you have the magic touch?" She bends her head low, puts her mouth right up to her ear. "Go on, Eleanor. Show me how good you are with those hands," she growls, low and roughening around the edges. "Make it last all night long.")

When she wakes up, panting and staring into space with dilated pupils, morning has come.

Doodle is gone.

There are birds twittering in the trees. Early daylight pouring in from the window. In the distance, straining, ongoing traffic heading north into the city.

There's sweat running down her neck, and the blankets aren't even that thick.

Eleanor touches the spot next to her. It's cold. Doodle must have left in the middle of the night. Or maybe he's still sleeping somewhere in the house...although the chances of her finding him here are slim to none.

Velvet is in her house next door. And awake, judging by the sound of the garage door clanking open.

On the one hand, the thought of the cold bed makes Eleanor sad.

On the other hand, the thought of the dream ramps up the heat to eleven in zero to sixty flat.

I need a shower, she thinks, sitting up quickly in bed. I need a nice, long, cold shower to just-

She glances at the door leading out into the hallway and the rest of the house and pauses, eyes widening with sudden realization. There's a mental assault going on behind her eyes that cannot be put into words, but it goes so fast, builds itself so accordingly and thoroughly without the prompting of her own imagination, that when it passes just as it has come her face—as well the rest of her body—spontaneously catches on fire.

On second thought, maybe I won't. Eleanor throws herself back onto the mattress with a groan, pulling the sheets over her head as a makeshift cocoon.

She's up and about an hour later in the kitchen, dressed and ready for the day, pouring herself a cup of the strongest black tea readily available in the cabinet (all the more to chase such sinful thoughts away, but on the other hand it's the last packet and rent aside there's still the A/C to fix). Taking it in hand, she goes over to the window, pulls the curtains aside, and draws up the blinds.

Her eyes widen.

Velvet is outside in the middle of the driveway, doubled over the sleek black and red sports motorcycle she's come to call her ride and her 'precious girl' ever since she managed to land the job over at the auto body shop. Doodle is seated on the ground next to it by a toolbox, ears cocked forward and gaze steady on his master as she toils away at the bike's unseen innards.

His head pivots in Eleanor's direction, gets on all fours, and barks twice. His tail wags in greeting.

Velvet pauses and turns her aside to look at Doodle; whatever she says gets him to glance at her before he returns his attention to across the lawn. Then she straightens up, denying her the view of the long, long swath of toned back muscles that plunge into the comforting confines of a pair of ratted jeans riding low on her hips.

There's a very small, very tangential, and increasingly vocal part of Eleanor that's screaming for her to not let go of the cup of tea. It's the only thing that holds on while everything else drops: her jaw, her eyes, her feet through the floor and the phantom boundaries of the world.

She's not sure where she wants to look: that glorious midriff is covered by the sleeveless, open shoulder crop top, if only just barely. If it's not that sweat-beaded neck or those broad shoulders laced with white scars, it's the slim, firm biceps of her arms that are sprawled one on top of the other across the bike's gas tank.

If that even constitutes as a crop top. She wonders if there's a bra underneath.

Memories of the day she walked into Velvet's garden to behold what may as well be perfection incarnate overwhelm her immediately following on the heels of that thought.

Doodle barks. BREATHE, GODDAMN YOU, he seems to say...except the voice in her head doesn't sound like the boom of a godly herald come down from the heavens to smack her shit back into place. It sounds more like her.

So Eleanor remembers how to breathe and lets out a quiet whistle of air that thankfully sounds like a sigh and emotes like a sigh, because gods and devils forbid it should sound anything like a whimper. She tightens her grip on the cup's handle, torn between wanting to set it on the window sill (gently) and suppressing the sudden urge to dump it over her head so she would have at least a good excuse to turn away from this slice of torture.

Her brain gives her the third option to keep staring—as if her eyes couldn't go any wider.

"Mornin'!" Velvet calls, and tucks in a stray lock of hair behind an ear. "Sorry 'bout the noise there. It didn't wake you, did it?" She leans forward, chest pressing up flush against the tank.

Eleanor bites the inside of her cheek, hard, at the same time her scar—and everything else that runs on blood and oxygen—pang and flare up at the sight. I'm going to die, she thinks; and though her hearing is filled with the sound of her head pounding with blood, it's the creaking of her skin grasping the tea cup as tightly as possible that resonates the loudest. Ready to do...something. Anything.

No. I will die. Because I am a dumbass for walking in on you.

And this will all be your fault, you stupid, sexy-!

Her nails pinch the meat of her hand. Her nostrils blast hot air.

Mother. Please grant me this one blessing to endure this hardship. I don't care how you do. Just...help me this one time.

(And so Mother comes.)

"No! I am fine! Thank you for asking! Now go put a shirt on, you...you...daemon! This is a Christian neighborhood, goddammit! Think of the children!"

Velvet blinks. "Eh…? But it's Saturday, and this is a shirt—wait. Did you just say 'demon' as 'day-mon'?"

"Yes I did!"

"But...why?"

"Because I want to, that's why!"

"You haven't called me that in years. What did I do-"

"You know damn well what you did!"

"But all I did was bring out the—oh. Oh. That's what this is about." Velvet chuckles and rakes a hand through her scalp. Her smile is soft and lazy, and it makes Eleanor's breath hitch and her heart stutter. "It's a little too early to be watering the garden right now, y'know? Give it another hour when it warms up. You're more than welcome to join me if you like-"

"I'll have none of it! You go putz around on your own like the heathen you are! Good day!"

A pause.

Then: "You get to pet Doodle-"

"I said, good day! Go pet him for me!" On that note, Eleanor snatches a curtain and all but shoves it across the window, blocking both Velvet and Doodle from sight. She puts her back to the wall and slides down to the floor, where she buries her face right into the pool of black tea that thankfully hides the furiously blushing, tear-pricked expression sniveling back at her.

She sniffs. Oh, Mother, I am a fool. A stupid, stupid fool! How could you even say those things with a straight face, let alone a clear conscience? My friendship is ruined! Ruined! All I have left now is dreams and milquetoast fantasies to entertain myself in the dead of night.

Yeah, a voice sneers, if you can even manage that.

Eleanor whimpers, sniffles again. I wonder if tea tastes better with tears, she thinks, and takes a tentative sip. Closes her eyes and savors it, trying not to pretend it's something more.

She licks her lips as pulls away, heart going back down to earth but head still rising up into the clouds. "Sweet," she mumbles, staring longingly into the cup. "It tastes sweet."

After a long, long moment, she sighs and brings it back to her lips.

"Huh," Velvet says, although she's uncertain whether she's saying it to herself, to Doodle, or the windless day. The curtains have yet to move. There's no doubt in her mind they're going to stay that way until the heat ramps up later on.

She looks at Doodle, who is staring back at her with that unchanging, benevolent smile. "Do you think I was being too straightforward?" she asks him.

"Woof!" he says, and beats his tail on the concrete. Thump, thump, thump.

"Ah. You think so, huh? Hmmm." She turns away, scratching idly at one cheek. "I'm not tryin' to pressure her, y'know? I mean, we know what we look like underneath. I'm merely extending an invitation for her to...well, enjoy the air. The sun. All that greenery wrought by my hands. The kind of greenery that'll still stand strong and last long into the winter. It'd do her a world of good being surrounded by all of this than being cooped up in those old church buildings and office complexes most of the week, don't you think?"

"Woof!" he says. Thump, thump, thump.

"No, it's not an excuse. I'm being serious. She's always moving and never stops for anything even when her health demands she should rest. I don't think a little Zen and a bit of girl-time with someone off the clock wouldn't hurt."

"Woof." She sees something in his expression from the corner of her eye, to which she turns and regards him fully. His smile stays in place, but his face appears more...intense. More scrutinizing, even though his ears are relaxed and his gaze isn't narrowed with suspicion. It's almost unnerving, in a way, how he is very much a dog but doesn't so much as react like a dog should.

Could it be his previous owner taught him to be that way?

Even though it doesn't show on his face, Velvet returns the same wary judgment he's giving her; her expression, however, is more of a petulant pout than a stern, leveled glare befitting a human master. "Oh, what would you know. You're just a dog. She's just a friend. You know I like to give her a hard time."

Doodle responds by cocking his head to one side. "I mean it, boy," she reiterates. "Whatever you're thinking, I want you to put it out of your mind right now."

His head tilts the other way. His tail quickens its pace a few notches, sweeping dirt and detritus left and right, right and left.

If she didn't know any better, she could almost swear his smile had gotten wider and much more smug.

It remains about as pure as an angel come down from the heavens bearing good tidings, trumpets and streamers and all.

"Bah. Dogs," she grumbles under her breath, turning away to return her attention back on the motorcycle.

Yet as she bends down, she takes a second to pause and shoot a quick glance at the window of the house next door. The curtain still covers it.

Velvet bites her lower lip. Ah, you've done it now, Velvet Crowe. You went too far. Now she'll spend the rest of the day locked up avoiding me. Because of you, she may never stop over again. She heaves a quiet sigh. You'll never get to see her reaction again every time she walks in unannounced, and you'll never stop wondering when she's going to get over herself and-

And.

She swallows around a throat suddenly gone dry.

There's a clicking of nails as Doodle gets up behind her, and then she feels the warm air of his breath and the cool, damp press of his nose against her leg, soft and sweet as an early morning sunrise. She glances down at him, into his smiling face.

YOU ARE A TERRIBLE LIAR AND YOU SHOULD KNOW IT, it seems to say.

Her face grows hot. Clenching one fist tight, she leans down into the open toolbox and shakily pulls out a pocket flashlight. Flips it into position with a flick of her hand, presses the button on the end, and focuses the beam on the tank's innards. "Just...sit there and look cute, alright? Like you always do."

"Woof!" Doodle proclaims proudly. He even sticks his chest out for good measure.

Velvet scoffs and ignores him.

(After all, no one – if anyone knew at all – didn't have to tell her twice. Especially a dog.)