Disclaimer: I don't own Pokémon, and I don't own "The Picture of Dorian Gray".
About the title: So, I enjoy improving my vocabulary. I was searching synonyms for "temptation", and I found yen. Curious, I clicked on it, and discovered that, despite being Japanese currency, it can actually mean a deep desire for something. It was too much for me to ignore it. Had to be used, so I apologize for the seemingly random title.
So, I've been working on other things, really, the stuff I need to work on. But I needed a nice break. I wanted to write a oneshot and this idea has been plaguing me for the longest time. Factor in searching for quotes and finding that little beauty just below this paragraph, and it simply had to be done.
The only way to get rid of a temptation is to yield to it. Resist it, and your soul grows sick with longing for the things it had forbidden to itself.
Oscar Wilde, The Picture of Dorian Gray, 1891
He did like the color red. His favorite color was blue for sure, one of the reasons he always wore blue jeans and, before his mom got him new ones (again), a blue jacket. He had red hats to accompany him, though. He always had his hats red, his first League hat and the two his mother gave him afterwards. His hats had always been his favorites, and would sooner walk down the street naked than share his hat with anyone. It was impossible to get that close to a thing, he guessed, and not fall in love with some of the things that had the same traits, like being washable, or being sturdy, or holding memories…or being red.
She had fallen asleep on his sofa, Azumaril rocking on his tiny bouncy ball under the table. The rhythmic sound, "Zu…maril. Zu…maril," of the baby seeming to sing himself to sleep encouraged him forward. His eyes started at her hair, red hair, supposedly, though it looked more like orange to him. Eyes wandered down to red lips, parted as she breathed gently, and further and further they slid, to the red tank she wore under her yellow shirt, which was cast over the back of the sofa at the moment. His eyes even rolled past that, to her yellow short, to her long legs, to her red, beaten path sneakers. He hadn't seen those since the last time she had traveled with him.
But his eyes drifted up to her hair once more, the loose strands tangled around her face. His hand reached for it, slowly. Zu…and his hand hovered nearer. Maril…and his body leaned forward, as if it wasn't his brain but his hand that pulled him to her…her what? He wasn't exactly sure what he was reaching for, but he was aching for something. Zu…and he was a centimeter from her face, breath stuck in his chest and his mouth wide open, hoping to pull in more air, or dislodge the bit jammed in his lungs. Marmaril…and, though Misty didn't wake up, the sudden break in the hypnotizing rhythm woke him up.
He jumped up and away, his reaching hand swiping through his hair, as if that was what he was doing all along. He wasn't sure why he did it. She didn't see him anyway. She was sleeping. Still sleeping. Just as Azumaril had gone back to his pattern, he sat back in his chair, and nothing in the room had changed.
And yet it had.
It had changed like this many times before and would probably change like this many times again. Once more he was forced with almost having something, having it dangled in front of his face but not being able to see what it was, like a shining, gorgeous, mysterious box. He could take it, he was certain of it. He could have taken the box, could have leaned forward easily and snatched it off the hook, but he pulled back every time. Why he pulled back, he could ignore for now. What he was pulling back from was the problem.
"Azumaril!" the blue mouse cried as Pikachu darted past.
Up to Ash's shoulder she went, the yellow mouse sliding her cheek affectionately along his as she went on, a soft spark flashing into his cheek and making the muscles twitch. She went down onto the arm of the sofa, onto Misty's stomach -- making the girl gasp and sit up quickly -- up to her shoulder, a bounce off her head to a lamp, up the lamp to the stairs and vanishing, leaving only the sound of scampering footsteps which soon faded, and a disappointed Mrs. Ketchum who walked in a moment later.
"Hey Mom," Ash chirped. "Were you trying to dress up Pikachu in one of those terrible outfits again?"
She laughed, tapping his hat playfully. "It was one time, Ash, and I let her go when she asked me to. No, she's found out you stuffed your bag full of ketchup. Wouldn't even let me tell her I had a bottle right down here if she had a craving. Believe you me, we're going to be having a baby out of her in no time at all."
Misty rubbed her eyes and yawned out a sleepy: "Who's pregnant?"
"Musing about Pikachu, dear," she chuckled.
The redhead nodded, sweeping her hair up in a bunch at the side of her head and reaching for the hair tie that should have been secured around her other wrist. It took her a few tries of grabbing before she lowered her hands, glaring at her wrist and pouting about the missing band. There was a dismissive shake of her head, and she walked into the kitchen, eyes half closed, to get a drink of water.
Delia cleared her throat. "Ash, I'm heading into town for a while. You don't need me to pick anything up for you, do you? Food, snacks, potions, pokeballs, you-know-what's?" The boy shook his head at each one, and she nodded. "Right, well, Misty? Do you want to come shopping?"
"Dunno," came the clear reply. She walked into the room and leaned on the wall, drinking the water that seemed to magically rejuvenate her. "Are you going to the trainer's supply shop?"
"No."
"Then no thank you, Mrs. Ketchum," she said politely, flashing her a smile.
She collapsed on the couch while the elder woman headed for the door. The empty cup was placed on the ground, forgotten, and she looked at the black haired boy across from her. For a while, there was no other sound other than Azumaril singing his name, sending Ash back to the moment before. He pulled his hat down to cover his reddening cheeks, and slouched in his chair, and did his best to look like he was falling asleep. He thought he was doing a good job of it too, until she smacked him.
"What was that for?" he cried.
She grinned, chin resting on her hands, elbows resting on the arm of the sofa as she leaned towards him. "You didn't let me sleep; why should I let you sleep?"
"Pikachu's the one that woke you up."
"But you're her trainer, right?" she challenged. "If you were any good, you could have stopped her. And I could be sleeping. But I'm not, so you're not allowed to either. Instead, we're going to do something fun. Something new. Something daring and interesting and exciting, because things have been getting boring at the gym, and I'm getting jealous of your stories. You keep telling me about saving lives and saving people and having fun, and now you won't do any of it with me."
His eyes widened and he jumped to his feet. "What are you talking about? That wasn't fun! I almost died trying to save people! I mean, it was hard work! I…I had to run and jump and make plans and escape and I almost died a whole bunch! I mean, I almost died!"
She snorted. "Yeah, well, I almost died of boredom. I was bored, and nobody came to comfort me. At least you had Brock, and you had real problems. It takes a real situation to make my sisters care, Ash, that or a guy. I didn't have a guy and I didn't have a real problem, so you know what? I didn't get any sympathy. I just had to sit and be bored and beat the really pathetic trainers that all zoom in from Pallet Town, all cocky with their new starters and horrified when they get their little selves creamed."
"You know," he drawled, "considering you like other people's pain so much, shouldn't that be heaven for you?"
"Not everyone's pain," she corrected, "only yours."
She smiled and tilted her head in a way that made her hair swing down in front of her eyes. And, quickly, impulsively, his hand darted out, yanking his body along out of his chair so his fingertips could skim her cheek and tuck the red locks behind her ear. It rested there, the gloved parts of his fingers occasionally touching her skin. He froze, unsure of what to do, and she was much more concentrated on hoping he didn't see her shiver, and that she wouldn't do so again.
"You're still touching me," she said to him, softly. "Just because I can't find my hair tie doesn't mean you've gotta replace it. But, if you think my skin is as soft and radiant as I think it is, you can feel free to leave it there. It'd be nice to know that even you think I'm pretty."
He gulped and pulled away, sitting in his chair and staring at his folded hands. And it changed again. He had touched the box this time, quite the difference it had made. It was real now. His prize hadn't been snatched away, or darted away on its own. It had been right in his hands. It would have been easy to open, to flip the lock undone and finally see what he had been so scared to take for so long, what he had wanted to take for so long and had stopped himself, set up a brick wall so thick he'd even lost his ability to imagine what was on the other side, or what was on that side worth having. Each tug away added another layer, and he responded with a stronger temptation.
"Sorry," he blurted, blushing. "Your hair was in your face, but I guess you noticed that. I was just, uh, just trying to fix it. So, I fixed it and…and I'm done now."
She frowned. She snatched up Azurill from under the table, hugging it close, and began to mutter under her breath. The hair he had pushed back just a moment before fell forward again, hiding her narrowed eyes and tight lips from view. She was angry, though. He could tell that. There was another mystery. Was she angry because he'd touched her? She didn't seem angry when he was doing it. Maybe she was angry because…maybe she had a brick wall too. Maybe she knew what was in her mystery box, and knew why he was holding back.
There was only one way to find out. He took a deep breath and asked her: "Why are you angry?"
"I'm not angry," she retorted. "I'm just cranky because Pikachu ran through here and woke me up. Change the channel, Ash, I don't want to watch the preliminaries of some stupid no-name league. Look at it, nobody's even managed to evolve their pokémon yet."
"Evolving doesn't mean you're more powerful," he snapped. "And you are too mad."
"I am not."
"You are too!" he said, laughter rising in his throat. "What do you mean you're not mad? What else would you call it when you won't look at me, frown and just act all mean? You're mad at me and I don't even know what I did!"
She glared at him, head swiveling so suddenly it made him jump a bit. "Ash Ketchum, I am mad at you because you…you're a tease or a coward! I can't figure out which, but you've got to be one or the other! Every time you start something, every time, you pulled away! I gave you the okay, and you still pull away. What am I supposed to do, Ash? What are you waiting for? Do you want me to make the first move?"
"I don't know what you're talking about!" he raged. He knew exactly what she was talking about. But maybe, if he prodded her, he would finally find out what he was reaching for all this time.
His plan failed, and this time, she stood, Azurill still in arms, and stormed upstairs. He followed her, battle still singing from the speakers. She had gone to his room, slamming the door behind her, but, thankfully, not locking it. He turned the handle and stood in the doorway, staring at the girl who sat on his bed, head in her hands, glowing with the gentle light of Azurill trying to use Refresh and cheer her up. It did seem to work, to some extent, as Misty laughed and patted the thing's head.
Then she looked at him and the angry face came back. Not only angry, but mixed with a sort of disappointment in him. He didn't enjoy the blow to his pride. He overcompensated for it, of course, puffing out his chest to prove her wrong, holding his head high and looking every bit the cocky trainer who had just won too many battles in a row. He stomped up to her, close to her face to sneer proudly, "Can't argue like you used to, can ya?"
"Why can't you do it?" she said, each word slow, filled with that disappointment he hated so much.
He shook his head. "I don't know what you're talking about."
She stood, still taller than him though they were both fifteen. She asked again, more firmly than before, "Why can't you do it?"
"Because…" he began. Her hands grabbed his shoulders, and thought stopped for a moment. He closed his eyes tight, trying to block out the warm feeling in his shoulders and on his cheeks, his racing heart, his frozen lungs. Ash swallowed, continuing, "Because we're friends. Because we're not supposed to. Because you're like my sister and…and because you don't want me to. I can't do it, Misty. I want to, but I can't."
She stepped a little closer, body and face mere inches from his, shaking her head slowly. "I'm not your sister."
"I know," he squeaked around his tightening throat. "But you're like my-"
"And I want you to," she whispered. "And I want to. And I don't want to stop myself anymore. I want to do what feels right. I want to forget what everyone else is going to say. I want to kiss you. But, if you want to go, you can go." Her hands slowly, reluctantly pulled from his shoulders. "I won't stop you, I won't force you. It isn't right. But you should know that this is your last chance, and if you pass this up, I'm going to make myself move on, no matter how much it hurts to leave you behind."
"Last chance?" he asked. She nodded. "But…but it's weird and wrong and…and friends don't…" open the box.
"Yeah," she agreed.
Misty tilted her head to the side, and brought her lips to his. For a moment, it was just a touch, just a tap, until it changed again. The box popped open, and they were pushing against one another. Her arms wrapped around his neck, his around her waist, and lost themselves in the moment. This is what he had been waiting for, the touch. He wanted to skim his fingers across that red shirt, imagining what hid beneath, loved the feel of her lips against his, her tongue against his. And the color red, that color orange, the bright color of her short locks, might have been his favorite part of all.
Whoever said the forbidden fruit was red, or even an apple for that matter?
He thought it to be orange. It was much easier to share.
That was fun! Oh, I haven't written a oneshot in quite some time. –sighs- That's oodles of fun. I need to keep doing this. I still want to write more Avatar, some Teen Titans, FMA…maybe even iCarly (though I can't imagine how I managed to hook myself on that). I don't know. It's a good break. Nice stress reliever. –sighs- So much to do, though. Lot to do…
If you want to review, awesome, not going to deny you that privilege. I'd like some crit, because I'm sure I need it. I never seem to be able to catch my mistakes, no matter how hard I search. Plus, this had a different feel to it, lot different from the stuff I normally do, so I want to know if this came out alright, or do you think that other, more lighthearted style is better? And, if you did or didn't like this, how can I improve it?
Hugs and Love,
Natty