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seikilosTitle: Pascal's Horrible Hygiene
Fandom: Tales of Graces f
Genre: Humour/Porn
Rating: R
Words: 4613
Disclaimer: I don't own the above fandom.
Summary: Cheria has had it up way past here with her girlfriend's lack of hygiene and so she decides to take matters into her own hands.
Author's Notes: So, uh. Early on in my playthrough of Tales of Graces f, Yosie and I started discussing pairings. Being not really fond of the two options canonically presented for Pascal and the one for Cheria, we joked in a fit of 1) enjoying yuri and 2) pairing the spares, that Pascal/Cheria should be a thing instead. ...And then we became surprisingly enamoured with it.
This idea came to me in its entirety one night as I was falling asleep. While I'm not 100% happy with how it turned out--it's been a long time since I've written porn and I've never done it consistently--I'm content enough with it to inflict it upon anyone who dares click. So, you know, have fun with that. :|b
"Thank you again for coming all this way with me."
"Not at all." Fourier smiled at Cheria as they made their way down the icy path through Fendel Glacier Ruins. She didn't appear to need to watch her step as they talked, which seemed to Cheria to be just a little bit unfair. "I'm happy to accompany you. To be quite honest, I was more than ready for a break from my research."
Fourier was so pretty when she smiled, she found herself thinking yet again. Sadly, it was actually kind of a rare sight. Normally, she looked so serious—or angry with Pascal. That . . . was what Cheria tended to see most often.
"Even so, it's still a long walk," she insisted. "And it's freezing down here."
"Not to someone who's lived in Fendel her entire life." Fourier actually chuckled. "The cold is bracing, nothing more."
Dressed in what felt like at least fifteen layers, Cheria couldn't see how anyone could think the inside of a glacier was "bracing," but . . . well, maybe someday she'd think the same way, too. . . . That was a little depressing.
"I, too, wanted to check on Pascal," Fourier continued, "and dealing with the monsters alone is so much more troublesome. It's been the better part of a week since I've last seen her, and you know how she gets."
Cheria laughed nervously. "Yeah. . . ."
Sadly . . . she did know. Oh, she knew all right.
Though the walk wasn't short, it was still pleasant; Fourier made good company, even if they didn't have a lot in common. Time passed quickly, and by the end of the trip, Cheria was warm with happiness (even if that was the only way she was warm). She just couldn't wait to see Pascal again, at long last.
When the pair of them reached the cavern where Forbrannir, Fendel's valkines, was located, it was to find the woman in question running here and bouncing there, gabbling away to herself, probably caffeinated to the pink tips of her hair, and definitely running on no other fuel than her passion for science.
Despite her anticipation, Cheria sighed at the sight; she caught Fourier giving her a sympathetic glance. Then she called out, "Pascal!"
The other girl wheeled around mid-dash across the cavern. A huge grin exploded onto her face and she flung her arms wide. "Cheria! Fourier!" Then she sprinted towards them.
A fond smile softened her expression. Even if she couldn't understand a word of what Pascal was doing with the valkines, she was still proud of her. She was doing important work, even more than what her own relief organization was accomplishing, and if it weren't for her enthusiasm, Fendel—
Pascal arrived, screeching to a stop before them. Unfortunately for her and Fourier, however, her smell arrived first.
"Pascal!" they chorused as the full horror of an unwashed, greasy, sweaty genius hit them dead on. Not even the cold of Fendel Glacier Ruins could dampen that stench.
"What? What?" Pascal looked from one to the other, mystified, before stepping forward with her usual enthusiasm. Her smell advanced and Cheria retreated.
"Hey, don't I at least get a nice 'nice to see ya' hug?" Pascal complained. "It's been a whole—wait, hang on, what day is it?"
In the face of that question and all its ghastly implications, Fourier blew up. "Pascal, you're disgusting! Have you not taken a single bath in the entire week you've been down here?"
Pascal stuck a finger against her cheek. "Uhh . . . nope, guess not!"
"Ugh!" Fourier press the heel of her hand to her head, and, yes, she was now wearing the scowl Cheria was much more used to.
She didn't blame her. In fact, her own smile was long gone. Pascal was brilliant, cheerful, and kind (and, um, a really amazing kisser), but if there was one thing that was guaranteed to drive Cheria up the wall and down again, it was her horrendous lack of hygiene.
"How can you not notice how . . . how gross you get?"
"Well, you know how it goes, sis—when you get caught up in your research, it's like the whole world goes ka-poof!"
She tried and tried to get her to bathe even every other day—it was the only thing she ever asked from her—but this kept happening.
"No, I do not know how it goes! I, at least, am able to function as a human being! At this rate, you're going to drive away Cheria with your revolting lack of personal standards, and it will be no one's fault but your own!"
She'd followed Pascal all the way to Fendel in the middle of winter, but Pascal couldn't even make sure she didn't stink? Honestly?
When that train of thought concluded, Cheria realized two things: First, that she was clenching her fists in front of her to the point of pain.
Second, that Pascal and Fourier had continued to argue and it was at this point that Pascal was turning to her and saying, "Aww, Cheria doesn't mind. Right, Cheria?"
"Yes!" Cheria abruptly bellowed. Somewhere in the room, a pile of snow slid off an ice shelf and thumped to the ground. "Yes, I do mind!"
Pascal gawped at her and even Fourier was staring, but she didn't care. "We even talked about how you were going to try to wash more often last week! It was really important!" The blank look Pascal gave her only angered—no, enraged—her further. "Don't you remember? Were you even paying attention?"
"Sure I was. . . ." Pascal sounded deflated; she even scuffed her foot along the icy floor. "But, well, a lot gets going in the ol' noggin and sometimes stuff just kinda slips through the—"
"That's not an excuse!" Cheria cut her off. "If I can come up all the way up to Fendel in the freezing cold and leave you to do your work even when I—I miss you a lot, you could at least do this for me so I don't have to hold my nose to give you a hug!"
Pascal looked up at her with big, contrite brown eyes. "I'm sorry. I'll go take a bath right away. I just need to—"
She started turning back toward that—stupid valkines and that was it, that was the last straw!
Cheria seized her hand and began bodily hauling her out of the room. "No! You are coming with me and you are having a bath right now!"
"All right. . . ." Glumly, Pascal let herself be dragged.
". . . My goodness," she heard Fourier say behind her before she and her stupid genius girlfriend started up the first slope leading out of Fendel Glacier Ruins.
*
Of course, giving Pascal a bath "right now" was impossible. It was a long trudge out of the ruins and even with the Turtlez Transport, the trip back to Zavhert wasn't quick—especially when conversation was minimal the entire way back. While Fourier and Pascal occasionally said a few words to each other, Cheria remained silent the entire way.
Truthfully, she had cooled down somewhat since her outburst (and not only because they'd left the shelter of the glacier and had gone out into the wind again). It was hard to stay angry when Pascal kept looking at her like a puppy who didn't understand what she had done wrong. But, when it came to training puppies, you couldn't hold off just because they looked cute and sad, or you'd just have an even bigger mess later. Cheria wanted to make an impression so that the idea of taking a bath or two every once in a while didn't "slip through the cracks" ever again.
By the time they reached Zavhert, though, Pascal's usual sunny outlook was already coming out from behind its cloud. She said goodbye to Fourier with an enthusiasm that was hard not to match, then skipped along the road to the main inn.
That sight made it still more difficult to stay firm in her resolve. Even though she was being silly, prancing about and catching snowflakes on her tongue, it was tempting to join her (in a slightly more serious way, of course). Maybe she was being too hard on her. . . .
"Hey, Pascal, there's a new shipment of rare metal in at the shop," a woman in an engineer's uniform called out as they passed.
"Ooh, for real?" Pascal beamed. "I'm totally gonna go check it out—"
Cheria felt her blood pressure spike. "Pascal. . . ."
". . . Right after I have my bath," she finished with a duck of her head.
The engineer laughed. "Suit yourself. See you later!"
As the other woman left, Cheria seized Pascal's arm. That was it. She was taking no more chances.
She didn't let go until the hot water was filling the bath back in her room in Zavhert's inn. "All right, get in. I'll go find the shampoo."
"You don't need to do that." Pascal, having already shed her outer layers, was unselfconsciously stripping away. "I've got it all under control."
"No, you don't." Cheria blew out a sigh. "The last time you took a bath when I was around, you didn't use any soap!"
"Oh yeah. . . ." Pascal shrugged. "I was gonna, but then I had this totally awesome idea for a new doohickey, so I wanted to test it out right away. And what d'you know? It worked great!"
She sighed again. "Which is nice, but . . . you didn't use any soap. Just get in the bath."
"Y'okay!" Pascal saluted. This was entirely normal and usually wasn't anything more than yet another one of her quirks—but, well, usually it wasn't drawing attention to the fact that she was now completely naked.
Cheria felt herself go hot and she quickly turned to pick up her shampoo. . . . And conditioner. She hadn't looked too closely at Pascal's formerly fluffy hair, but she was positive it was going to need the help.
She heard a series of splashes. When she turned back, Pascal was leaning against the end of the tub and making "Ahhh!" sounds. The heat of the water was bringing a cute little blush to her skin and it was nearly enough to distract Cheria from the fact that she was almost positive the water was taking on a grey cast . . . already. Ewww. . . .
"Are you sure it's been a week since your last bath?" Cheria asked as she rolled up her sleeves.
Pascal cocked her head to one side. "Hmm . . . well, it could have been two. I kinda lost track a while ago."
"Ugh!" Not even her grandfather's training in good manners could stop her from making a face at that one. "You really have to bathe more—you're going to make yourself sick!"
"Nah, don't worry. No icky bugs are gonna get the best of ol' Pascal, no sirree!"
She sighed yet again. "Get your hair wet so I can wash it."
"Gotcha!"
Pascal took in a huge breath and, before Cheria could say anything, plunged her whole head underwater.
Of course she'd have to be different. Most people would just . . . lie back a little. But not Pascal.
She shook her head, braced herself, and then stuck her hands in—yes, the water was definitely starting to turn grey. Wonderful.
. . . After she'd wet her hands and as she was squirting a little shampoo into one palm, something important abruptly jumped to the forefront of her mind.
"Pascal, don't drown yourself!"
Her stupid genius girlfriend burst to the surface, sucking air loudly and splattering her with water.
"I'm not gonna drown myself," she assured her. "I was just getting things nice and wet for you!"
. . . She had to be doing this on purpose. She had to.
Cheria rubbed her hands together, making a lather, and tried not to grind her teeth. In a slightly . . . stilted voice, she said, "I'm going to get your hair really clean now. Try to pay attention to how I do it, all right?"
"Y'okay!" Pascal grinned at her and Cheria felt her cheeks heat up again. It was the same expression as always, s-so it shouldn't matter whether she was clothed or . . . not clothed, right?
"O-Okay." Cheria let out a breath. "Um . . . here we go."
She was tentative at first, her hands hovering, than draping themselves atop Pascal's head. (Because her hair was so greasy, of course. That was the only reason for her hesitation.) But when she started to rub it in and raised only a pitiful few bubbles here and there—well, that was a challenge.
Cheria dumped twice as much shampoo as she normally needed into her hands, then really set to scrubbing away. She was going to get Pascal's hair clean again, even if it took the whole bottle!
She was so focused on working the shampoo through every last strand of Pascal's hair that she initially failed to notice the noises her girlfriend was making—noises like "Ohhh" and "Mmm . . ." and even "Oooh, yeah, Cheria!"
When she did pick up on them, however, she froze. "Pascal!"
"Oh, don't stop, Cheria! This feels soooo good!" Pascal pleaded in the same tone of voice she'd used the last time they'd . . . ah. . . .
"G-Go rinse your hair," she instructed in a suddenly breathy voice. She was not thinking about the last time, not thinking about the last time, not thinking about how long it had been since the last time. . . .
By the time Pascal had resurfaced with suds-free hair, Cheria had herself back under control. Mostly. She would be fine as long as she focused only on Pascal's hair and not—everything else.
Oh dear.
She'd intended to make the second shampooing just as thorough as the first, but. . . .
"Could you stop making those noises?"
"Huh? What noises?"
"You know, the . . . ." Dating or not, Cheria just couldn't bring herself to demonstrate, or say what they reminded her of. "The . . . the ones you were just making."
"I just can't help it, though." Pascal smiled—no, was that a smirk? It was! "You're just too good with your hands."
. . . It was better to just get to the next step as quickly as possible, she decided.
"This is conditioner," Cheria said to the bottle, because it was getting to be much easier to speak to than Pascal. "It looks after your hair and stops it from getting split ends, a-and . . . yeah."
"Is that what makes your hair always smell so nice?"
Without warning, the bottle was snagged from her hands and Pascal was sitting up and sniffing it. She was also making it really easy to see her face wasn't . . . the only place flushed from the heat.
"Ooh, yeah, this is the stuff!" Pascal chirped, and she had to be doing this on purpose, too, had to. "I'm gonna definitely get myself some of this."
"Let me" —she pried the bottle from Pascal's fingers and really tried to ignore the way the skin-to-skin contact made her heart jump— "let me show you h-how to use it."
"Isn't it just like shampoo?"
"No, you, um, have to leave it on for a while to, um, give it time to work," Cheria once again explained to the bottle.
"Lay it on me, then—oh wait." Pascal leaned over the side of the tub. The tip of her nose skimmed her neck, then brushed her earlobe. She felt the touch of slightly chapped lips behind her ear and her mouth fell open as her eyelashes fluttered shut.
Then she heard Pascal sit back in the bath. "Yup, just as I thought. Exactly the same smell."
. . . D-Definitely . . . on purpose.
At the very least, Pascal wasn't making any more of those noises as Cheria worked the conditioner into her hair; she contented herself with long, happy sighs and the occasional hum. It gave Cheria a chance to largely bring herself back to the task at hand yet again and regain her businesslike approach to getting Pascal clean.
Still, it was probably best not to push her luck. "All right, just leave the conditioner on for a few minutes to give it time to repair your hair. You can use the time to wash the rest of yourself."
"Yes ma'am!" Pascal saluted once more and she really needed to stop doing that.
Cheria capped the bottle of conditioner and picked up the shampoo. She was about to leave the room when she saw Pascal slip her hand over the bar of soap one measly time and start scrubbing away.
"Oh come on!" Cheria plunked the bottles on the floor and grabbed the soap from the side of the tub. "Don't tell me you actually think that's the proper way to wash up!"
Pascal tilted her head, looking a bit like Sophie as she did—except even Sophie apparently knew more about bathing than Pascal did! "Well, sure, isn't that what you're supposed to do? Give the soap the ol' rubba-rubba and then put it all over?"
"You're supposed to get a lather! Oh, here. I'll show you."
Cheria wet her hands in the bathwater again and went at the soap a little harder than maybe she usually did. Once suds were overflowing from her hands, she took Pascal's arm and positively coated it with soap. When she reached her shoulder, though, there was one more unpleasant surprise waiting for her.
"When was the last time you shaved your armpits?"
They were a white-and-pink forest, one that would put anything in Windor to shame. Yuck!
"Beats me." Pascal shrugged. "A while."
. . . If she developed a twitch by the end of this bath, it would be all Pascal's fault.
She took in a breath. "Don't you want them to look nice?"
"Uhh . . . I dunno." She scratched her head. "They're armpits. Can those things actually look nice?"
". . . Of course they can!" she answered belatedly, because to be perfectly honest, Pascal kind of had a point. "You can look after them later, okay?"
Because she had to draw the line somewhere, and shaving her girlfriend's armpits for her was going to be it.
"Sure, sure," Pascal replied in an airy tone that only promised the undergrowth was going to get denser.
Whatever.
Cheria lathered up her hands again, cleaned up . . . her armpit, then went on to her other arm. After that, she had a problem. Cleaning Pascal's arms had been fine—she could be nice and brisk and get the job done, no problem. Her torso, however . . . um.
Well aware she was only delaying the inevitable, Cheria delicately cleaned Pascal's neck and then her hands darted down to a . . . certain point.
When she started slipping her hands along Pascal's sides, her girlfriend complained, "Hey, you missed a spot."
It—was more like she had missed two spots.
Um.
Cheria hesitated for a good, long moment. Because on one h—well, uh, she did need to get Pascal clean and show her how it was done. But . . . she wasn't sure she could trust herself to do the job properly . . . there.
"Somethin' the matter?"
She jerked away from the tub at Pascal's . . . possibly innocent question.
"N-No, I'm fine! Just . . . fine." She laughed, not at all hysterically. "Thanks for letting me know. I really appreciate it."
"No problem." Pascal sat up in the tub a little more, expectant.
Much slower than before, Cheria soaped up her hands. She could do this . . . she could do this. . . . She swallowed with a dry mouth and—began to wash Pascal's breasts.
At first, she was almost able to pretend it was just like washing anywhere else on Pascal's body. She could do this—she could show Pascal exactly what she needed to do to get nice and clean.
But then she felt Pascal's nipples firm under her palms. The circles she was rubbing grew slower, more deliberate.
She heard Pascal catch her breath and, entirely without intending to, she raised her head. Rich, darkened eyes met hers; shallow breaths passed between Pascal's parted lips.
Cheria swallowed again. "Pascal . . . ?"
Pascal's response was to pull her into the tub.
Cheria shrieked as, abruptly, her dress became a waterlogged mass, dragging her down into the bathwater. Flailing about, scrabbling for the edge and yelling Pascal's name as she made a vain effort not to get any wetter, she very nearly got her knees under her—and then Pascal's lips were covering hers.
The thing about Pascal was that, for all she was airheaded and scatterbrained and frequently outright weird, when she focused her mind on something she wanted to know? She learned it thoroughly.
Their first few kisses months ago had been, well . . . nice. They hadn't been the best she'd ever had, but they certainly hadn't been worth complaining about. But after that, Pascal must have sat down and run things through that brain of hers, because the next time they'd kissed, Cheria had nearly collapsed on the spot. Pascal had worked out every single preference she had and a few she hadn't even known about, and had put them to use so thoroughly that she had only been able to cling to her and return the kisses as best she could. Pascal's lips could make her forget absolutely anything.
. . . Including the fact that she was making out with her in a tub, fully dressed—at least for a moment.
After that moment was up and the heavy, slippery sensation of being bogged down by sodden clothes came back to her again, she scrambled backwards, trying not to knee her girlfriend in the groin as she did.
"Pascal, what are you—"
And then her demand dissolved into an embarrassing sort of gasping groan, because Pascal had used the time she'd spent flailing about to slip her finger into her panties and start rubbing her in that way that made her forget not just about thinking anything, but about thinking altogether.
Just barely, she managed to hold on long enough to squeeze out, ". . . You're r-ridiculous!"
"Yup!" Pascal said happily and looped an arm around her waist to drag them together again.
Cheria gave up. She couldn't possibly get wetter than she already was at this point, and the only way to get out was to stop doing what she'd wanted to do with Pascal for almost two weeks.
And so she kissed Pascal full on the mouth. With one hand, she firmed up her grip on the rim of the tub, and with the other, she finally cupped Pascal's breast properly. When she slid her thumb over her erect nipple, Pascal made one of her shamelessly abandoned sounds that never failed to pull an answering sharp breath from her.
She felt Pascal shimmy her panties down as far as she could, then slipped her fingers through her slit. After that—oh, o-oh, earlier had just been to get her attention, hadn't it?
Cheria whimpered into Pascal's mouth. Her hand dropped from her breast, skimming beneath the water and over her stomach to find Pascal's clit.
Pascal nearly bit her tongue in response and she pulled back long enough to moan, "Oooh, Cheria!"
She giggled jerkily, because Pascal was so silly and so good at making her feel smug and—and so good, all at once. But then she was pressing up against Pascal, into her finger, and she'd just bitten her collarbone probably not too hard and she just needed her mouth on Pascal right now. . . .
She forgot she was in a tub of now tepid water, forgot her clothes were probably ruined, she forgot everything but Pascal—and then when her climax came, she nearly forgot her, too, but not quite, so that Pascal could come right along with her, hollering her head off.
It was a mark of Pascal's skill that Cheria actually spent a moment or two sagged against the edge of the tub, enjoying the last tingles of pleasure and euphoria before realizing all the—problems they had.
"That was . . . oh, that was . . ." she began lazily—and then she nearly jumped upright. "Oh no! There's water everywhere! And we're in a hotel—what if someone heard?"
"Ehh, don't worry about it." Pascal flapped a limp hand. "It's just water. What harm could it possibly do?"
"It might ruin the floor—or, or what if it leaked downstairs and someone's coming up right now to see what the problem is?"
She climbed out of the tub, wincing to see even more clearly just how much water had slopped out. There was no point in worrying about her sopping clothes adding to the mess at this point, but she couldn't help feeling guilty with every last patter of droplets that hit the floor.
She stripped with her back to Pascal, then gathered up her clothes in one of the two towels she'd laid out. She was partway through drying herself off when Pascal spoke.
"Hey, Cheria?"
Cheria glanced over her shoulder to where Pascal was sitting up in the tub with an unusually serious expression. " . . . Yes?"
"Are you feeling better now? You know, all loosey-goosey and stuff?"
"All . . . ?" Cheria blinked, then turned around completely. "What are you talking about?"
"Well, y'know." Pascal scratched her head again. "You were all rawr-tense and all that and you didn't look too happy, so I thought I'd relax you up a little."
. . . She couldn't decide if Pascal missing the point that drastically was endearing or impossibly annoying.
"Pascal, thank you, um, but next time . . . you could just take a bath first and then cheer me up after, okay?" She smiled. She'd go with endearing. Because . . . well, it was. Kind of.
"You got it! And hey, Cheria?"
Cheria straightened, her arms full of the towels and her soaked clothing. "Yes?"
"If we're talking about next time, then you might wanna take off your clothes before you get in the tub."
". . . Oooh!" Cheria only just resisted throwing the—the whole damn load of clothes at Pascal's head and stomped out of the room.
*
It was far more common for the sight of her little sister to bring frustration and not smiles. When Fourier ran into her and Cheria a few days later, though, she found herself beaming. Pascal looked—and smelled—so much better now; she couldn't believe the change.
"Ah, that's much more like it," she sighed happily. Finally, her sister wasn't an embarrassment (. . . in that regard, at least). "Mm, and you're even wearing a nice scent—it's lovely."
"It's Cheria's shampoo," Pascal informed her. "Man, she's the best at getting people cleaned up. She's a total whiz!"
At Pascal's side, Cheria went scarlet. . . . So, that explained that.
A hand to her face, Fourier said, "Thank you, Pascal, that's more than I ever wanted to know."
Still, as long as it kept Pascal clean, she could cope with the excess of information. Or . . . she could at least try.
Fandom: Tales of Graces f
Genre: Humour/Porn
Rating: R
Words: 4613
Disclaimer: I don't own the above fandom.
Summary: Cheria has had it up way past here with her girlfriend's lack of hygiene and so she decides to take matters into her own hands.
Author's Notes: So, uh. Early on in my playthrough of Tales of Graces f, Yosie and I started discussing pairings. Being not really fond of the two options canonically presented for Pascal and the one for Cheria, we joked in a fit of 1) enjoying yuri and 2) pairing the spares, that Pascal/Cheria should be a thing instead. ...And then we became surprisingly enamoured with it.
This idea came to me in its entirety one night as I was falling asleep. While I'm not 100% happy with how it turned out--it's been a long time since I've written porn and I've never done it consistently--I'm content enough with it to inflict it upon anyone who dares click. So, you know, have fun with that. :|b
"Thank you again for coming all this way with me."
"Not at all." Fourier smiled at Cheria as they made their way down the icy path through Fendel Glacier Ruins. She didn't appear to need to watch her step as they talked, which seemed to Cheria to be just a little bit unfair. "I'm happy to accompany you. To be quite honest, I was more than ready for a break from my research."
Fourier was so pretty when she smiled, she found herself thinking yet again. Sadly, it was actually kind of a rare sight. Normally, she looked so serious—or angry with Pascal. That . . . was what Cheria tended to see most often.
"Even so, it's still a long walk," she insisted. "And it's freezing down here."
"Not to someone who's lived in Fendel her entire life." Fourier actually chuckled. "The cold is bracing, nothing more."
Dressed in what felt like at least fifteen layers, Cheria couldn't see how anyone could think the inside of a glacier was "bracing," but . . . well, maybe someday she'd think the same way, too. . . . That was a little depressing.
"I, too, wanted to check on Pascal," Fourier continued, "and dealing with the monsters alone is so much more troublesome. It's been the better part of a week since I've last seen her, and you know how she gets."
Cheria laughed nervously. "Yeah. . . ."
Sadly . . . she did know. Oh, she knew all right.
Though the walk wasn't short, it was still pleasant; Fourier made good company, even if they didn't have a lot in common. Time passed quickly, and by the end of the trip, Cheria was warm with happiness (even if that was the only way she was warm). She just couldn't wait to see Pascal again, at long last.
When the pair of them reached the cavern where Forbrannir, Fendel's valkines, was located, it was to find the woman in question running here and bouncing there, gabbling away to herself, probably caffeinated to the pink tips of her hair, and definitely running on no other fuel than her passion for science.
Despite her anticipation, Cheria sighed at the sight; she caught Fourier giving her a sympathetic glance. Then she called out, "Pascal!"
The other girl wheeled around mid-dash across the cavern. A huge grin exploded onto her face and she flung her arms wide. "Cheria! Fourier!" Then she sprinted towards them.
A fond smile softened her expression. Even if she couldn't understand a word of what Pascal was doing with the valkines, she was still proud of her. She was doing important work, even more than what her own relief organization was accomplishing, and if it weren't for her enthusiasm, Fendel—
Pascal arrived, screeching to a stop before them. Unfortunately for her and Fourier, however, her smell arrived first.
"Pascal!" they chorused as the full horror of an unwashed, greasy, sweaty genius hit them dead on. Not even the cold of Fendel Glacier Ruins could dampen that stench.
"What? What?" Pascal looked from one to the other, mystified, before stepping forward with her usual enthusiasm. Her smell advanced and Cheria retreated.
"Hey, don't I at least get a nice 'nice to see ya' hug?" Pascal complained. "It's been a whole—wait, hang on, what day is it?"
In the face of that question and all its ghastly implications, Fourier blew up. "Pascal, you're disgusting! Have you not taken a single bath in the entire week you've been down here?"
Pascal stuck a finger against her cheek. "Uhh . . . nope, guess not!"
"Ugh!" Fourier press the heel of her hand to her head, and, yes, she was now wearing the scowl Cheria was much more used to.
She didn't blame her. In fact, her own smile was long gone. Pascal was brilliant, cheerful, and kind (and, um, a really amazing kisser), but if there was one thing that was guaranteed to drive Cheria up the wall and down again, it was her horrendous lack of hygiene.
"How can you not notice how . . . how gross you get?"
"Well, you know how it goes, sis—when you get caught up in your research, it's like the whole world goes ka-poof!"
She tried and tried to get her to bathe even every other day—it was the only thing she ever asked from her—but this kept happening.
"No, I do not know how it goes! I, at least, am able to function as a human being! At this rate, you're going to drive away Cheria with your revolting lack of personal standards, and it will be no one's fault but your own!"
She'd followed Pascal all the way to Fendel in the middle of winter, but Pascal couldn't even make sure she didn't stink? Honestly?
When that train of thought concluded, Cheria realized two things: First, that she was clenching her fists in front of her to the point of pain.
Second, that Pascal and Fourier had continued to argue and it was at this point that Pascal was turning to her and saying, "Aww, Cheria doesn't mind. Right, Cheria?"
"Yes!" Cheria abruptly bellowed. Somewhere in the room, a pile of snow slid off an ice shelf and thumped to the ground. "Yes, I do mind!"
Pascal gawped at her and even Fourier was staring, but she didn't care. "We even talked about how you were going to try to wash more often last week! It was really important!" The blank look Pascal gave her only angered—no, enraged—her further. "Don't you remember? Were you even paying attention?"
"Sure I was. . . ." Pascal sounded deflated; she even scuffed her foot along the icy floor. "But, well, a lot gets going in the ol' noggin and sometimes stuff just kinda slips through the—"
"That's not an excuse!" Cheria cut her off. "If I can come up all the way up to Fendel in the freezing cold and leave you to do your work even when I—I miss you a lot, you could at least do this for me so I don't have to hold my nose to give you a hug!"
Pascal looked up at her with big, contrite brown eyes. "I'm sorry. I'll go take a bath right away. I just need to—"
She started turning back toward that—stupid valkines and that was it, that was the last straw!
Cheria seized her hand and began bodily hauling her out of the room. "No! You are coming with me and you are having a bath right now!"
"All right. . . ." Glumly, Pascal let herself be dragged.
". . . My goodness," she heard Fourier say behind her before she and her stupid genius girlfriend started up the first slope leading out of Fendel Glacier Ruins.
Of course, giving Pascal a bath "right now" was impossible. It was a long trudge out of the ruins and even with the Turtlez Transport, the trip back to Zavhert wasn't quick—especially when conversation was minimal the entire way back. While Fourier and Pascal occasionally said a few words to each other, Cheria remained silent the entire way.
Truthfully, she had cooled down somewhat since her outburst (and not only because they'd left the shelter of the glacier and had gone out into the wind again). It was hard to stay angry when Pascal kept looking at her like a puppy who didn't understand what she had done wrong. But, when it came to training puppies, you couldn't hold off just because they looked cute and sad, or you'd just have an even bigger mess later. Cheria wanted to make an impression so that the idea of taking a bath or two every once in a while didn't "slip through the cracks" ever again.
By the time they reached Zavhert, though, Pascal's usual sunny outlook was already coming out from behind its cloud. She said goodbye to Fourier with an enthusiasm that was hard not to match, then skipped along the road to the main inn.
That sight made it still more difficult to stay firm in her resolve. Even though she was being silly, prancing about and catching snowflakes on her tongue, it was tempting to join her (in a slightly more serious way, of course). Maybe she was being too hard on her. . . .
"Hey, Pascal, there's a new shipment of rare metal in at the shop," a woman in an engineer's uniform called out as they passed.
"Ooh, for real?" Pascal beamed. "I'm totally gonna go check it out—"
Cheria felt her blood pressure spike. "Pascal. . . ."
". . . Right after I have my bath," she finished with a duck of her head.
The engineer laughed. "Suit yourself. See you later!"
As the other woman left, Cheria seized Pascal's arm. That was it. She was taking no more chances.
She didn't let go until the hot water was filling the bath back in her room in Zavhert's inn. "All right, get in. I'll go find the shampoo."
"You don't need to do that." Pascal, having already shed her outer layers, was unselfconsciously stripping away. "I've got it all under control."
"No, you don't." Cheria blew out a sigh. "The last time you took a bath when I was around, you didn't use any soap!"
"Oh yeah. . . ." Pascal shrugged. "I was gonna, but then I had this totally awesome idea for a new doohickey, so I wanted to test it out right away. And what d'you know? It worked great!"
She sighed again. "Which is nice, but . . . you didn't use any soap. Just get in the bath."
"Y'okay!" Pascal saluted. This was entirely normal and usually wasn't anything more than yet another one of her quirks—but, well, usually it wasn't drawing attention to the fact that she was now completely naked.
Cheria felt herself go hot and she quickly turned to pick up her shampoo. . . . And conditioner. She hadn't looked too closely at Pascal's formerly fluffy hair, but she was positive it was going to need the help.
She heard a series of splashes. When she turned back, Pascal was leaning against the end of the tub and making "Ahhh!" sounds. The heat of the water was bringing a cute little blush to her skin and it was nearly enough to distract Cheria from the fact that she was almost positive the water was taking on a grey cast . . . already. Ewww. . . .
"Are you sure it's been a week since your last bath?" Cheria asked as she rolled up her sleeves.
Pascal cocked her head to one side. "Hmm . . . well, it could have been two. I kinda lost track a while ago."
"Ugh!" Not even her grandfather's training in good manners could stop her from making a face at that one. "You really have to bathe more—you're going to make yourself sick!"
"Nah, don't worry. No icky bugs are gonna get the best of ol' Pascal, no sirree!"
She sighed yet again. "Get your hair wet so I can wash it."
"Gotcha!"
Pascal took in a huge breath and, before Cheria could say anything, plunged her whole head underwater.
Of course she'd have to be different. Most people would just . . . lie back a little. But not Pascal.
She shook her head, braced herself, and then stuck her hands in—yes, the water was definitely starting to turn grey. Wonderful.
. . . After she'd wet her hands and as she was squirting a little shampoo into one palm, something important abruptly jumped to the forefront of her mind.
"Pascal, don't drown yourself!"
Her stupid genius girlfriend burst to the surface, sucking air loudly and splattering her with water.
"I'm not gonna drown myself," she assured her. "I was just getting things nice and wet for you!"
. . . She had to be doing this on purpose. She had to.
Cheria rubbed her hands together, making a lather, and tried not to grind her teeth. In a slightly . . . stilted voice, she said, "I'm going to get your hair really clean now. Try to pay attention to how I do it, all right?"
"Y'okay!" Pascal grinned at her and Cheria felt her cheeks heat up again. It was the same expression as always, s-so it shouldn't matter whether she was clothed or . . . not clothed, right?
"O-Okay." Cheria let out a breath. "Um . . . here we go."
She was tentative at first, her hands hovering, than draping themselves atop Pascal's head. (Because her hair was so greasy, of course. That was the only reason for her hesitation.) But when she started to rub it in and raised only a pitiful few bubbles here and there—well, that was a challenge.
Cheria dumped twice as much shampoo as she normally needed into her hands, then really set to scrubbing away. She was going to get Pascal's hair clean again, even if it took the whole bottle!
She was so focused on working the shampoo through every last strand of Pascal's hair that she initially failed to notice the noises her girlfriend was making—noises like "Ohhh" and "Mmm . . ." and even "Oooh, yeah, Cheria!"
When she did pick up on them, however, she froze. "Pascal!"
"Oh, don't stop, Cheria! This feels soooo good!" Pascal pleaded in the same tone of voice she'd used the last time they'd . . . ah. . . .
"G-Go rinse your hair," she instructed in a suddenly breathy voice. She was not thinking about the last time, not thinking about the last time, not thinking about how long it had been since the last time. . . .
By the time Pascal had resurfaced with suds-free hair, Cheria had herself back under control. Mostly. She would be fine as long as she focused only on Pascal's hair and not—everything else.
Oh dear.
She'd intended to make the second shampooing just as thorough as the first, but. . . .
"Could you stop making those noises?"
"Huh? What noises?"
"You know, the . . . ." Dating or not, Cheria just couldn't bring herself to demonstrate, or say what they reminded her of. "The . . . the ones you were just making."
"I just can't help it, though." Pascal smiled—no, was that a smirk? It was! "You're just too good with your hands."
. . . It was better to just get to the next step as quickly as possible, she decided.
"This is conditioner," Cheria said to the bottle, because it was getting to be much easier to speak to than Pascal. "It looks after your hair and stops it from getting split ends, a-and . . . yeah."
"Is that what makes your hair always smell so nice?"
Without warning, the bottle was snagged from her hands and Pascal was sitting up and sniffing it. She was also making it really easy to see her face wasn't . . . the only place flushed from the heat.
"Ooh, yeah, this is the stuff!" Pascal chirped, and she had to be doing this on purpose, too, had to. "I'm gonna definitely get myself some of this."
"Let me" —she pried the bottle from Pascal's fingers and really tried to ignore the way the skin-to-skin contact made her heart jump— "let me show you h-how to use it."
"Isn't it just like shampoo?"
"No, you, um, have to leave it on for a while to, um, give it time to work," Cheria once again explained to the bottle.
"Lay it on me, then—oh wait." Pascal leaned over the side of the tub. The tip of her nose skimmed her neck, then brushed her earlobe. She felt the touch of slightly chapped lips behind her ear and her mouth fell open as her eyelashes fluttered shut.
Then she heard Pascal sit back in the bath. "Yup, just as I thought. Exactly the same smell."
. . . D-Definitely . . . on purpose.
At the very least, Pascal wasn't making any more of those noises as Cheria worked the conditioner into her hair; she contented herself with long, happy sighs and the occasional hum. It gave Cheria a chance to largely bring herself back to the task at hand yet again and regain her businesslike approach to getting Pascal clean.
Still, it was probably best not to push her luck. "All right, just leave the conditioner on for a few minutes to give it time to repair your hair. You can use the time to wash the rest of yourself."
"Yes ma'am!" Pascal saluted once more and she really needed to stop doing that.
Cheria capped the bottle of conditioner and picked up the shampoo. She was about to leave the room when she saw Pascal slip her hand over the bar of soap one measly time and start scrubbing away.
"Oh come on!" Cheria plunked the bottles on the floor and grabbed the soap from the side of the tub. "Don't tell me you actually think that's the proper way to wash up!"
Pascal tilted her head, looking a bit like Sophie as she did—except even Sophie apparently knew more about bathing than Pascal did! "Well, sure, isn't that what you're supposed to do? Give the soap the ol' rubba-rubba and then put it all over?"
"You're supposed to get a lather! Oh, here. I'll show you."
Cheria wet her hands in the bathwater again and went at the soap a little harder than maybe she usually did. Once suds were overflowing from her hands, she took Pascal's arm and positively coated it with soap. When she reached her shoulder, though, there was one more unpleasant surprise waiting for her.
"When was the last time you shaved your armpits?"
They were a white-and-pink forest, one that would put anything in Windor to shame. Yuck!
"Beats me." Pascal shrugged. "A while."
. . . If she developed a twitch by the end of this bath, it would be all Pascal's fault.
She took in a breath. "Don't you want them to look nice?"
"Uhh . . . I dunno." She scratched her head. "They're armpits. Can those things actually look nice?"
". . . Of course they can!" she answered belatedly, because to be perfectly honest, Pascal kind of had a point. "You can look after them later, okay?"
Because she had to draw the line somewhere, and shaving her girlfriend's armpits for her was going to be it.
"Sure, sure," Pascal replied in an airy tone that only promised the undergrowth was going to get denser.
Whatever.
Cheria lathered up her hands again, cleaned up . . . her armpit, then went on to her other arm. After that, she had a problem. Cleaning Pascal's arms had been fine—she could be nice and brisk and get the job done, no problem. Her torso, however . . . um.
Well aware she was only delaying the inevitable, Cheria delicately cleaned Pascal's neck and then her hands darted down to a . . . certain point.
When she started slipping her hands along Pascal's sides, her girlfriend complained, "Hey, you missed a spot."
It—was more like she had missed two spots.
Um.
Cheria hesitated for a good, long moment. Because on one h—well, uh, she did need to get Pascal clean and show her how it was done. But . . . she wasn't sure she could trust herself to do the job properly . . . there.
"Somethin' the matter?"
She jerked away from the tub at Pascal's . . . possibly innocent question.
"N-No, I'm fine! Just . . . fine." She laughed, not at all hysterically. "Thanks for letting me know. I really appreciate it."
"No problem." Pascal sat up in the tub a little more, expectant.
Much slower than before, Cheria soaped up her hands. She could do this . . . she could do this. . . . She swallowed with a dry mouth and—began to wash Pascal's breasts.
At first, she was almost able to pretend it was just like washing anywhere else on Pascal's body. She could do this—she could show Pascal exactly what she needed to do to get nice and clean.
But then she felt Pascal's nipples firm under her palms. The circles she was rubbing grew slower, more deliberate.
She heard Pascal catch her breath and, entirely without intending to, she raised her head. Rich, darkened eyes met hers; shallow breaths passed between Pascal's parted lips.
Cheria swallowed again. "Pascal . . . ?"
Pascal's response was to pull her into the tub.
Cheria shrieked as, abruptly, her dress became a waterlogged mass, dragging her down into the bathwater. Flailing about, scrabbling for the edge and yelling Pascal's name as she made a vain effort not to get any wetter, she very nearly got her knees under her—and then Pascal's lips were covering hers.
The thing about Pascal was that, for all she was airheaded and scatterbrained and frequently outright weird, when she focused her mind on something she wanted to know? She learned it thoroughly.
Their first few kisses months ago had been, well . . . nice. They hadn't been the best she'd ever had, but they certainly hadn't been worth complaining about. But after that, Pascal must have sat down and run things through that brain of hers, because the next time they'd kissed, Cheria had nearly collapsed on the spot. Pascal had worked out every single preference she had and a few she hadn't even known about, and had put them to use so thoroughly that she had only been able to cling to her and return the kisses as best she could. Pascal's lips could make her forget absolutely anything.
. . . Including the fact that she was making out with her in a tub, fully dressed—at least for a moment.
After that moment was up and the heavy, slippery sensation of being bogged down by sodden clothes came back to her again, she scrambled backwards, trying not to knee her girlfriend in the groin as she did.
"Pascal, what are you—"
And then her demand dissolved into an embarrassing sort of gasping groan, because Pascal had used the time she'd spent flailing about to slip her finger into her panties and start rubbing her in that way that made her forget not just about thinking anything, but about thinking altogether.
Just barely, she managed to hold on long enough to squeeze out, ". . . You're r-ridiculous!"
"Yup!" Pascal said happily and looped an arm around her waist to drag them together again.
Cheria gave up. She couldn't possibly get wetter than she already was at this point, and the only way to get out was to stop doing what she'd wanted to do with Pascal for almost two weeks.
And so she kissed Pascal full on the mouth. With one hand, she firmed up her grip on the rim of the tub, and with the other, she finally cupped Pascal's breast properly. When she slid her thumb over her erect nipple, Pascal made one of her shamelessly abandoned sounds that never failed to pull an answering sharp breath from her.
She felt Pascal shimmy her panties down as far as she could, then slipped her fingers through her slit. After that—oh, o-oh, earlier had just been to get her attention, hadn't it?
Cheria whimpered into Pascal's mouth. Her hand dropped from her breast, skimming beneath the water and over her stomach to find Pascal's clit.
Pascal nearly bit her tongue in response and she pulled back long enough to moan, "Oooh, Cheria!"
She giggled jerkily, because Pascal was so silly and so good at making her feel smug and—and so good, all at once. But then she was pressing up against Pascal, into her finger, and she'd just bitten her collarbone probably not too hard and she just needed her mouth on Pascal right now. . . .
She forgot she was in a tub of now tepid water, forgot her clothes were probably ruined, she forgot everything but Pascal—and then when her climax came, she nearly forgot her, too, but not quite, so that Pascal could come right along with her, hollering her head off.
It was a mark of Pascal's skill that Cheria actually spent a moment or two sagged against the edge of the tub, enjoying the last tingles of pleasure and euphoria before realizing all the—problems they had.
"That was . . . oh, that was . . ." she began lazily—and then she nearly jumped upright. "Oh no! There's water everywhere! And we're in a hotel—what if someone heard?"
"Ehh, don't worry about it." Pascal flapped a limp hand. "It's just water. What harm could it possibly do?"
"It might ruin the floor—or, or what if it leaked downstairs and someone's coming up right now to see what the problem is?"
She climbed out of the tub, wincing to see even more clearly just how much water had slopped out. There was no point in worrying about her sopping clothes adding to the mess at this point, but she couldn't help feeling guilty with every last patter of droplets that hit the floor.
She stripped with her back to Pascal, then gathered up her clothes in one of the two towels she'd laid out. She was partway through drying herself off when Pascal spoke.
"Hey, Cheria?"
Cheria glanced over her shoulder to where Pascal was sitting up in the tub with an unusually serious expression. " . . . Yes?"
"Are you feeling better now? You know, all loosey-goosey and stuff?"
"All . . . ?" Cheria blinked, then turned around completely. "What are you talking about?"
"Well, y'know." Pascal scratched her head again. "You were all rawr-tense and all that and you didn't look too happy, so I thought I'd relax you up a little."
. . . She couldn't decide if Pascal missing the point that drastically was endearing or impossibly annoying.
"Pascal, thank you, um, but next time . . . you could just take a bath first and then cheer me up after, okay?" She smiled. She'd go with endearing. Because . . . well, it was. Kind of.
"You got it! And hey, Cheria?"
Cheria straightened, her arms full of the towels and her soaked clothing. "Yes?"
"If we're talking about next time, then you might wanna take off your clothes before you get in the tub."
". . . Oooh!" Cheria only just resisted throwing the—the whole damn load of clothes at Pascal's head and stomped out of the room.
It was far more common for the sight of her little sister to bring frustration and not smiles. When Fourier ran into her and Cheria a few days later, though, she found herself beaming. Pascal looked—and smelled—so much better now; she couldn't believe the change.
"Ah, that's much more like it," she sighed happily. Finally, her sister wasn't an embarrassment (. . . in that regard, at least). "Mm, and you're even wearing a nice scent—it's lovely."
"It's Cheria's shampoo," Pascal informed her. "Man, she's the best at getting people cleaned up. She's a total whiz!"
At Pascal's side, Cheria went scarlet. . . . So, that explained that.
A hand to her face, Fourier said, "Thank you, Pascal, that's more than I ever wanted to know."
Still, as long as it kept Pascal clean, she could cope with the excess of information. Or . . . she could at least try.
no subject
Date: 2012-10-08 07:58 pm (UTC)This was excellent. No doubt a seminal work in the field of Pascal/Cheria fanfic, if such a field existed outside of this fic.
...There was something else I was going to comment on (just one of my standard making-silly-connections-between-a-line-of-dialogue-and-something-funny), but alas, I have forgotten. But, as is usual with my making-silly-connections-between-etc. moments, it wasn't important, at least.
no subject
Date: 2012-10-09 01:59 pm (UTC)\o/ Thank you very much! I'm glad you enjoyed it.
XD No problem, bro.
/comments with this account for the lulz
Date: 2012-10-09 02:57 am (UTC)this fic is amazing
you are amazing
everything is beautiful and nothing hurts (except in that good way)
A+ more of same
Appropriate icon is appropriate!
Date: 2012-10-10 12:06 pm (UTC)OKAY NO FOR REALS NOW
Date: 2012-10-09 04:22 am (UTC)Initially I shipped Pascal/Cheria as a "pair the spares" sort of joke, but reading this fic made me more serious about the pairing. (As serious as shipping can ever be, anyway. ...which is actually pretty serious, considering fandom, but you know I try not to go there. :D;;) You make me so disappointed that this pairing isn't actually canon, sigh. I'd love to see how Cheria got to the point of falling in love with Pascal (HINT HINT), but more general relationship shenanigans like this would be (s)excellent too. (And if you somehow manage to work this into Malikahverse, that'd be hilariously awesome as well. I'M NOT ASKING FOR MUCH HERE, OKAY OKAY.) Porn is not necessary but would certainly be a tasty bonus, since despite your admitted rustiness I think you did a fine enough job here. :D
And I think this --
and then when her climax came, she nearly forgot her, too, but not quite, so that Pascal could come right along with her, hollering her head off.
-- is my favorite line of the fic. Pascal in the middle of sex would bring all the noise complaints to the yard, wouldn't she. (Now I'm imagining Hubert overhearing Pascal in one of her more ecstatic moments, whether it be caused by baths or...something else. That poor kid. THIS IS ALSO TOTALLY NOT A HINT, BY THE WAY. NOPE. NOTHING ABOUT THAT SENTENCE AT ALL COULD EVER BE CONSTRUED AS A SUGGESTION FOR ANOTHER FIC.) It also builds on another thing (out of many!) that I like about this fic, which is how Pascal retains her characteristic playfulness and silliness for teh sexytiems. I have to wonder whether she, ahem, studied up on sex, if you know what I mean.
I also love how Cheria plays the "adult" in the relationship, yet it's still clear by the end of things that it's not a one-sided deal. Pascal looks after Cheria, too, in her own Pascalian way. Really, Pascal does for Cheria what she'd theoretically do for Hubert in a relationship: she helps the both of them to just chill out a bit.
TL;DR this is now one of my favorite fics by you, right beneath the D&G one you wrote for my birthday. 8DDDD
no subject
Date: 2012-10-10 12:28 pm (UTC)Gee, all these hints. I'm not quite sure what you're trying to say with them.... :|a (And I'm glad you think my porn is all right--I've been writing so much G and PG fic lately that I was really hard to get my brain in the proper space for that. ...Of course, maybe I was using the wrong part of my anatomy, hurr hurr.)
Pascal in the middle of sex would bring all the noise complaints to the yard, wouldn't she.
If she never shuts up in the normal course of things, it would be pretty weird if she were perfectly silent when she was getting it on.
...Albeit also really funny. Hmm....But yes, Pascal being so damn weird during sexytiems was the main reason why I actually went and wrote out the whole thing, rather than do a fade-to-black. Because seriously, I just couldn't pass that up.And yeah, I really wanted it to be clear that both of them get real value out of the relationship, because otherwise, it just plain wouldn't have worked. If I'm going to ship what Graces never intended, then by god, I'm going to make it a functioning relationship! ...For a certain definition of "functioning," because c'mon, it's Pascal.
And wow, now that's a compliment! I'm so glad that you enjoyed it so much, and if I can find time to write more with this pairing, I certainly won't hesitate. ♥