Work Text:
I should’ve seen it coming when, a few years ago, Pacifica cut her hair into a pixie. When I—more forcefully than I should have—asked her why, she said she was tired of how high-maintenance long hair was. In my infinite ability to stick my foot in my mouth, I told her that I liked it better long.
No matter how much I loved the golden curtain of her hair and how it framed her face, her elegant neck, the tantalizing lines of her collarbones, and her shoulders, I should’ve kept my mouth shut because it was none of my business. She was none of my business.
When we saw each other again a couple years later, before starting college, her hair was long again. That was precisely the moment that should’ve clued me in at least a little. Of course it didn’t.
Now, there I was, running through the woods after her in the darkness of twilight. Had I not been so oblivious, there might’ve been a chance at something, anything, with her. After that day, it all seemed like a bridge too far.
I remember how surprised I was when she appeared at the door of the shack that evening. I was at the register. Soos and Mabel had gone out to grab something for supper and it was a slow day. The tension was palpable with just the two of us there, and she wasn’t making it any easier by wearing a low cut top and a miniskirt with thigh high socks. That absolute territory was going to be the death of me. Little did I know.
She was the first to break the silence a few minutes after our initial greeting. Of course she was.
“So, Dipper, you land a girlfriend yet?” she asked casually. Her hands locked behind her back as she stared at some merchandise.
“I, uh…” Damn it, she had completely blindsided me with that question. I cleared my throat. “No.” Though it was supposed to be an answer, my voice went up at the end of the word, making it sound more like a question.
“You’ve never had one, have you?”
I looked down, the register seemed very interesting all of a sudden.
“No,” I muttered, feeling more than a little resentment at this line of inquiry. Was she interrogating me so she could mock me? Maybe she hadn’t changed as much as I thought.
A few minutes went by before she suddenly opened her mouth again.
“Want a blowjob?”
She said it in a rushed string of words that sounded like a single one. Perhaps I should’ve pretended that I didn’t understand what she said. I mean, it wasn’t too far fetched, considering how she had basically muttered something unintelligible.
My brain, and for that matter, the rest of my body, had another reaction entirely. My eyes made a beeline for her lips and remained there with a level of fixation that would have earned me more than a few angry looks had I done it to a stranger in the middle of the street. I licked my own lips, unable not to savor the intrusive image in my head: Those plump, soft, pink lips wrapped around my…
Trying to recover from such an obvious blunder, and rid myself from the image, I shook my head. Of course it was too late. She was grinning like a shark and sauntering toward me with a confidence that said she owned the place, and me.
“Let’s go up to your room.” Was she making her voice sultry on purpose?
This was happening. There was nothing I could do to stop it at this point. Who would? The most beautiful girl I had ever known, on whom I had had a crush for the longest time, wanted to put her mouth on my genitals. No one would say no to that, man, woman or alien. The cash register had more agency than I did.
I mean, this was Pacifica Elise Northwest after all. She looked like some kind of paradigm for a model. Except maybe for the fact that her chest was a tad too full for that line of work. Let me be clear, though, that was not a downside in my book, at all.
The next thing I knew, I was sitting on my bed, barely able to breathe, with the girl of my dreams kneeling between my legs and staring at my privates. That must’ve been what being on drugs felt like, I thought. Losing track of time and events and feeling an all-consuming elation mixed with anxiety seemed to match the formula.
When her wet lips touched my skin, it felt like I might orgasm right then and there. In that moment of pure bliss, I had to muster more willpower than I ever had before, just not to cave-in and give my body what it wanted most. This was a once-in-a-lifetime chance, I was sure of it, and I wasn’t about to waste it.
Pacifica was doing this out of some misplaced sense of pity toward a friend. She had more experience than me, so she was throwing a bone to the poor virgin.
“Holy cow, you’re so good at this,” I half said, half groaned, throwing my head back.
She was. The next words my brain conjured, I had to keep to myself. I wanted to remark that she must’ve had a lot of practice. Somehow, even in that state, I knew it was a commentary borne of jealousy and sadness, though. It was better not to think how—or with whom—she learned to do this in the first place, and how she became so good at it.
When I looked down again, she tucked a few loose strands of hair behind her ear and looked up. She stared directly into my eyes, even as her head bobbed up and down. Somehow, she smiled around my member and winked. I knew the meaning: She reveled in the compliment. She knew she was good at it. Even at this, she had to be the best, and thus she was. That was Pacifica Northwest for you.
Despite my best efforts, that was all I could take. I couldn’t even hold her gaze for more than a couple seconds, it was too erotic. Not to mention that her eyes were the bluest thing I had ever seen. I had googled blue things at some point, just to see what I could compare them to. Nothing compared. Nothing came even close.
Without warning, I spilled inside her warm, welcoming mouth, staining the velvet within with my seed. There was a perverse sense of accomplishment in the act. Caught by surprise, she only swallowed the first couple discharges, opting instead to take the rest on her face. As she did so, she took hold of my hand and entwined our fingers. This somehow felt like the more intimate act.
She catched the white stuff on her face with such joy, grace and aplomb, that the orgasmic ecstasy got tainted by a feeling of something constricting around my heart. Again, I wondered, who had done this with her before? What man was worthy of having Pacifica Northwest perform this delightfully debauched act on him?
“Wow. Have you been saving it or what?” she said, standing up.
Out of some distorted sense of pride, I smiled. It felt nice knowing that this was an extraordinary load in her experience. It meant I compared positively with whoever had come before me, quite literally. I was willing to take any compliment from her.
Without much ado, she divested herself of her top and used it to clean her face.
“Now you’ve done it. You flipped my switch. There’s no way I can stop at that.”
It took me a moment to catch her meaning. I didn’t even quite notice that she was sliding her panties down her legs and lifting the miniskirt to her waist. Hell, I didn’t quite understand what was happening until she pushed me down onto the bed and pounced on top of me, her silky smooth thighs straddling my hips.
“You’re still hard,” she said, looking down between us. “Good.”
Even immersed in that post-orgasmic haze and my tumultuous thoughts, my brain managed to muster the strength to remind me that perhaps this was going too far, and that I didn’t have a condom on. My mouth, however, only managed to whimper her name as she took hold of my erection and rubbed herself with it.
“Can you feel how wet I am?”
I nodded. What else could I do?
Then, she was impaled on me, all the way to the base. She whimpered, sounding too much like she had felt some measure of pain, but I instantly put it out of my mind, not wanting to flatter myself that much. As far as I had compared, I was perfectly average in size.
If I couldn’t believe what happened before, now I was almost sure I had to be hallucinating. There I was, making love to the girl I had been pining after for years. No, having sex, fucking, some part of my brain corrected me harshly. This wasn’t love-making, better get that fantasy out of my head, better nip that dream in the bud.
To say that the flesh of her hips was soft and smooth would be a ridiculous understatement. There weren’t enough or good enough words to describe how she felt under my hands. The curve of her waist held all the pleasure in the universe. The feeling of weight and suppleness of her breasts, so soft and warm, must have been what hedonists had in mind when they envisioned their ideology.
Her skin was glowing with perspiration, granting her a glow that seemed unearthly to my eyes. She gyrated and hopped on me with such smooth expertise, that I was surer than ever that she must’ve had more experience than I ever wanted to even contemplate.
Once again, I reached that most joyous of peaks. My fingers dug so hard into the flesh of her hips, I was certain to leave a mark or two. Good, let whoever came next know that she had been with someone before. That was my small victory in this.
A second later, she let out a long, musical moan, and then collapsed listlessly on my chest. I wanted to hug her. I wanted to kiss her. I wanted to sleep just like this, wake up next to her, and have breakfast together. I wanted so much to cling to the idea that such things were possible for us, but they weren’t.
Before she could shatter my heart in a million pieces, I decided to strike first.
“I think you should go now. Mabel and Soos will be back soon.”
She said nothing for a few seconds, and then chuckled.
“Yeah, you’re right.”
I didn’t move as she stood up, instead lying there on the bed, disheveled and half naked as I was. My eyes were beginning to sting and I already missed her body heat as if a part of my body had been torn away with its absence.
There was a sniffing sound as she dressed but I thought nothing of it. She probably just had a runny nose after all that physical activity. I knew I had.
No sooner was she out of my room, that I stood up to turn on the light and survey the damage. People in movies and books talk about revelations so earth shattering that they tilt the world on its axis and completely shift their perception of life itself. This was mine, not finding the diaries or finding the author, or even Bill Cipher. No, seeing a pink stain on my sheets was the moment everything changed.
A pit opened under my stomach as I ran down the stairs shouting her name. All my organs fell through said pit when I discovered she was nowhere to be seen, not even on the road outside the shack.
“Pacifica!” I shouted at the top of my lungs, feeling how it left my throat raw after a single time.
Then, I heard a branch break somewhere in the woods. Without a second thought, I ran headlong into the dark, still shouting her name.
“Elise!”
“Leave me alone!” she shouted back. That got her attention. Seemed like I wasn’t the only one with a thing for her middle name.
“I’m sorry!” I tried to imbue the word with all the regret and love I felt. It didn’t work.
“I know what happened,” I tried again. No response.
I could hear the crunch of dried leaves, so I let that guide me.
“Come back! Please! Let’s talk!”
Only the silence returned my pleas.
To this day, I don’t know what prompted me to start singing, or even why that song specifically. Despite all the mysteries I have unraveled, the tangle of neural connections in the human brain still remains quite inscrutable.
“All is for my mistress, all is for my maid,” I began, as loudly as possible while trying to keep some measure of melody in my voice.
“Sweetness that I took for, sweetness that she gave to me, my queen bee.
“Though my heart has long been given to you, summer’s turn is nigh. Swifts and swallows swoop and yearn for you with all that’s in the sky.”
The crunching of dry leaves stopped, so I stopped too. I kept singing.
“But blow the wind and come the rain and come my love again.
“Autumn’s flourish fruit that falls for you, apples sweet as death. All that falls has lived and died for you, gently come to rest.”
It was barely audible, but I was sure I heard my name drop from her lips. That fanned the flames in my chest and I carried on singing with renewed strength.
“Winter’s kiss has some enthralled, so they keep their fires bright, but my breast is lit with flames to shun the dying of the light.
“Oh, blow the wind and come the rain and come my love again.
“I’ll speak love’s truth with oak and ash for you, sing through April’s tears. I will weave the bonny flowers of spring for you. I will walk for years.
“Yes, blow the wind and come the rain and take my heart again.
“All is for my mistress, all is for my maid. Sweetness that I took for, sweetness that she gave to me, my queen bee.”
As I finished, I fell completely silent, expecting some reply. All I could hear, however, was my heavy breathing and the blood pounding in my ears. My eyes stung again. It felt like someone had put a vice around my throat. There was no way I could sing or even call to Pacifica now, not that it mattered.
“You’re such a dork.”
I literally jumped and squealed. There she was, streaks of black makeup running down her eyes, her hair a tousled mess, and still the most beautiful girl I had seen in my entire life.
“And that’s why I love you,” she added after a beat, looking down at the ground.
In a moment of unprecedented confidence and proactivity, I lifted her chin with my fingers so I could look into the nearly magical blue of her eyes.
“I love you too.”
She didn’t say anything, but the smile she regaled me was more than enough answer. I had never seen her smile like that before. Later, I would learn that that smile was only for me.
Back at the shack, after talking for a bit to smooth things out, I just had to ask her.
“Pacifica, if it was your first time, why did you…” I waved my hands about in an attempt to not outright say what we had done. It still made my face heat up.
To my surprise, she looked away, growing red too—and not just a little—but all the way to her ears.
She said something but it was basically a whisper of complete gibberish to me.
“What?”
“I found your porn collection!” she shouted, covering her face with both hands.
Oh.
“Oh.”
Well, that explained basically everything.
FIN