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Big Dipper's New Groove, or: Scents and Nonsense	By : Richard_Priapi Category: -Misc Cartoons > Crossovers Views: 779 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I make no claim to Gravity Falls, or any of the characters/environments referenced in this story.

Chapter List
- 5
- 6
Connie Mahewaran knew everything about polyamory. At least, this was what she had told herself after extensive hours of exhaustive research in books, websites, forums and video essays before she and Steven had agreed to try it. Now she pushed a missing pair of glasses up the bridge of her nose, an old anxious habit she’d never unwired. Managing her local triad had more challenges than she had expected to hit at once. Wendy and Dipper had had a fight. On one hand, she felt as awful for them like two of her friends were going through breakups at once. On the other hand, the bad blood between them was causing friction when she spent time with either one. On a secret third hand, she ached at the lost possibility of another three-way. The possibility of losing one or both of her cuties was not an option. Now, from Steven and his family she knew that if Dipper and Connie allowed themselves to be vulnerable and communicated, there was a more than fair chance they could patch things up. On the other hand... her parents hadn't always had the smoothest marriage- all stiff rules and stiffer attitudes. Sometimes she had needed to apply a little subtle pressure to get them back on track. Or to wheedle out an extra gift for herself. Maybe a Mahewaran gambit would do the trick.

Neither would tell her much about what happened. Dipper’s answer: “We fought over an old necklace. It might have been cursed,” sounded simple enough. But Wendy had said “I don’t want to talk about that creep. You can keep him.”
Connie had peeked at her phone when she had gone to the bathroom. The notification screen boasted twenty unread messages from Dipper. Even accounting for Wendys fiery temper, that wasn’t a happy sign.

Connie sat on her bedroom floor, meditating cross-legged in her comfiest workout clothes.
What would Garnet do? Open communication was best, but she wasn’t above getting her hands dirty.
What would Pearl do? Her solution would have to be clever. Maybe a little underhanded.
What would Amethyst do? She was allowed to enjoy herself, right?
Connie nodded, gave a determined “Hmmph.” A plan took shape.
--

“Do you like being told what to do, Dipper?”
“What, you mean like at work and stuff?” It was not a question he had expected to start off ‘dinner and a movie at my place.’ He shifted on the beat-up sofa, raising an eyebrow at her. Connie curled up next to him in an old shirt that bared her midriff and hugged her breasts like a second skin; she knew it could help command his attention. She blew his thought away with a dismissive raspberry and leaned her head against her hand. Dipper’s eyes were drawn to her full lips right as she clarified-
“During sex.”
His cheeks reddened, thinking back over the last few weeks.
“You mean like Steven does? I don’t know. It’s, uh… never come up.”
Connie raised an eyebrow. “Really? Wendy’s never tried to order you around?”
He blushed deeper, even as his heart sank to think about the distant redhead.
“She likes dirty talk. It… she… Things get a little uncomfortable.”
Connie nodded sagely, her bobbed hair swaying with the motion. Wendy had talked to her like that too. She had been more prepared for it. Maybe Dipper didn’t like to feel degraded. She crossed out a line or two in her mental planbook.
“I understand. Dirty talk can put you on the spot, and that can be a source of anxiety.” The tight line of Dipper’s mouth relaxed a little. She continued.
“But that’s not what I asked. Being told to do something you already want to do takes away some of that awful anxiety, doesn’t it? That’s not you begging for that naughty little idea. You’re just doing what you’re told.”
“Like what?”
She closed her eyes, pretending to give the issue deep thought. Really, she’d caught him looking at her feet when she’d kicked off her shoes. A few different times. He wasn’t very slick.
“I’m sore from practice. Dipper, give me a foot massage.”
She could hear him swallow, and suppressed a hunter’s smile.
Dipper’s voice came out mechanically, like he’d practiced this thought a lot.
“But feet are sweaty and gross…” and not in the good way his thoughts added.
Connie held up a finger to command his silence.
“I have washcloths. Go get me one, and a bowl of warm water.”

Mumbling under his breath he stood to do what she asked. When he came back, she noticed with a trace of amusement that he’d also brought one of the tea-tree oil soap bars that came in her last care package from home. He might not need to much breaking in after all.

“Thank you,” she said, filling her voice with sincerity. “Sit.” She patted the seat next to her.
Dipper sat, trying not to slosh the water in the bowl as he did. Connie made an exaggerated stretch from head to toe, draping her tan legs across him, catlike in every motion. Dipper’s eyes were pulled to where her crossed ankles had settled on his lap. When’d she take off her socks? She fidgeted her feet a little.
“My massage?” There was a bratlike tone of hurt in her voice that he had kept her waiting. And then the hot, damp cloth pressed to her skin. She sighed appreciatively as he ran the washcloth in circles around her heel and stroked along the arches of her sole. If his fingers cupped each miniature curve perfectly, well… it was just thorough hygiene. He stole a look up at her, but she was resting her head against the couch, eyes closed in relaxation. He ran the cloth down the top of her foot and slowly parted her toes, gently nudging the soapy fabric into each nook, flushing a bit as she giggled.
“Careful, that tickles.”
She uncrossed her ankles and he repeated his performance on her other foot. Connie peered at him through a cracked eyelid. Adrenaline trickled through her, breaking the relaxation somewhat. She stayed quiet, letting Dipper have his private, silent moment with her feet, watching his barriers chip away piece by piece.

“That’s better,” her voice oozed honey, “Now about that massage?”
“Yeah. Yeah, sure.” He’d already touched her feet, kind of. And they were clean now…
He most definitely didn’t want to see if her soles were as soft as they looked or run his bare fingers over the wrinkly ridges that formed when she curled her toes. That would be creepy. So would wondering if running his nails along them would make her sigh or shudder. If she’d want him to kiss his way up those toned legs… actually no, that thought was normal.

They sighed at the same time as he began to rub her feet, thumbs digging into the ball of her foot, palms palpating her heel. She hadn’t lying about needing the massage, and despite his accusations of feet being really gross, she got the impression that this was not his first time giving one. Not if he kept finding the little aches and stiff spots so quickly. He did have a sister. She imagined that twins must have their own ways of bonding, ways that might become awkward, even repellant during puberty. She let the thought go- no need to make things weird. Instead she let her mind wander, and warmth prickled her beneath her clothes. Once he had her properly relaxed, she was really going to try and enjoy the next part.
“You can stop,” she said, voice kept casual. He rubbed for a few seconds more before the words seemed to reach his brain. Part of him looked relieved. She wanted the other part.
She pointed her foot like a dancer, trailing her big toe up his body until it rested under his jaw. She felt his pulse, felt the way he tried to swallow his nerves. Her foot nudged his jaw until he turned to face her. Suddenly she felt like the sun, like he couldn’t look right at her without burning up. She spared him some of the trouble as her free foot came to rest in his field of vision, blocking much of the rest of her out. The heat inside her burnt higher, the scintillating rush of being in control electrifying her senses.
“Don’t be shy, Dipper. Kiss them. Lick them. I’m not judging.”
Surely he wasn’t that horny. Surely even he had a limit to where his tongue would tread. The minty smell of tea-tree oil filled the space between his ears. His lips parted. A million miles away Connie beamed. She rolled her hip, one sole caressing his chin as the timid licks he prodded her so gently with became longer, rolling laps.

“There you go. Feeling good?”
He nodded distractedly. She smelled wonderful, her fresh-washed skin still spiked with a gentle undercurrent of salt and sweat. One hand helped hold her leg in place, the other helped him rub her more wherever his greedy tongue could not also be. Connie let out a succubus’ sigh, basking in the worshipful way he touched her.
“Since you’re doing such a good job,” her voice was laced with condescension and he shuddered, “I think I’ll give you a little reward.”
She lowered her free foot to his lap, grateful to relieve the cramping muscles in her leg. Her toes wrapped over the bulge in his jeans. His breath hissed in as she pressed his cock against his thigh.
“Would you like that?” she inquired innocently.
“Yes!”
Her smile was all teeth.
“And what exactly do you want?”
He paused breathing erratic, eyes frozen to hers. She tapped her foot against his cheek twice as if to call him back to the moment.
“Tell me what you want. I want to hear you say it.”
“T-touch me with your feet.”
“Oh? Touch you where?” She put a slender finger under her chin, feigning ignorance.
His lips parted as little as possible, as if he was choking on each word.
“Please touch my dick with your feet.”
“Oh, and he has manners,” she gushed. She stroked him through his jeans, the ball of her foot pressing circles into him. His shoulders shook and she smiled.
“Get your cock out,” came her husky-throated demand.

The molten, blank-minded need in his eyes as he worked his fly and tugged at his underwear mesmerized Connie, and absently she slipped a hand under her shorts and into her panties. His rose-pink cockhead glistened. She pressed his little dipper between her feet and began to play with him. She palmed her groin, the heel of her hand working against her pussy in time with her feet. He sucked in a breath, glad for the grounding smell of her arousal in the air.
Connie was glad, too. It was her first time using her feet this way, but the novelty of the soft, hot skin of his hard cock on her soles was checking the right boxes. Dipper certainly wasn’t complaining. She thought of trying the same thing on Steven… maybe convincing him to do a little shape-shifting… her feet trembled as she pressed into her clit and she bit back a not-so dominant-sounding whimper.

Dipper gave no sign of noticing the slight mismatch in tone. He looked down- something about her feet grinding against him felt so unlike anything else he’d done that even if it hadn’t felt so good in its own right, he’d still have to fight back the odd tingle that stretched from his dick up his spine. His eyes strayed up her body, to the sight of her playing with herself, eyes watching him like a hawk. The intent in those eyes, the way she seemed to be recording each moment to memory, enjoying herself so much was almost too much to bear. He breathed through his mouth, each breath halting and shallow.

Her voice took on that special tone, somewhere between mockery and tenderness.
“Go on; cum. Cum from my pretty little feet.”
Put like that, he didn’t have a chance. Reflexively he grabbed around her ankles, bucking himself into her feet until a spoonful or two of cum had spread its way across her. Her hand still pumped back and forth inside her shorts.

Dipper fell forward, catching himself on extended arms over her. His wild eyes met hers, then travelled along her body. She plucked the thought right from his head. She wiggled out of her shirt and slid down her shorts.
“Make me come.”
He fell on her like a madman, taking a whirlwind tour of her neck, the soft chest with its firm brown nubs, the lines of her rib and flatness of her stomach, and finally his lips were there, tongue slurping and lips sucking and fingers curling. He never even looked up, the occasional flash of his birthmark the most she saw of his face while it was buried in her lips. Her fingers curled into his hair, legs wrapped around his shoulders and she pulled him tight, her free hand digging into the upholstery. Her deepening moans and screams were like a cheering chorus and he didn’t dare let up until they died off enough to prove without a doubt that he had given her what she needed.
“Very good.” She toyed with his hair. He slid himself up just far enough for his head to rest on her stomach where he could enjoy the subtle spice-and-salt of her sweat from all over. Neither moved for about fifteen minutes. In Connie’s head, she sat at a desk, scribbling in her notes: definite praise kink.
--
Finally they cleaned up enough to cook their dinner and stream a movie, snuggled into each other like lock and key under a light blanket: useful in case their hands were wandering when her roommate returned. Thankfully it didn’t come up, and they passed the time analyzing and critiquing the high-concept fantasy’s low-concept execution.
Afterwards, she walked him to the door. They shared a quick goodbye kiss, but her hand lingered on his cheek.
“Go talk to her tomorrow. Don’t text. Don’t call. Just go.” She gave his cheek two little taps before she retreated inside, closing the door behind her.
- 5
- 6
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Big Dipper's New Groove, or: Scents and Nonsense