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John Egbert's Uncooperative Junk

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EB: hey dave!
EB: heheh, pestering you from a couple rooms away is never gonna get less awesome.
TG: definitely not
TG: at no point in time will our loving ectofamilies get tired of this brady bunch shit
TG: every day’s a goddamn sunshine day
EB: heheh, if we’re the brady bunch, is your bro alice?
TG: yeah
TG: hammin it up over there in the middle box
TG: smoldering romantic tension with that butcher dude
EB: lil cal?
TG: gross dude
TG: anyway sup
EB: bluh, i was kinda hoping you’d go off on some hilarious tangent so i could put this off more.
EB: um...
EB: i can talk to you about anything, right?
TG: yeah
TG: fear not i think i see where this is going
EB: you do?
TG: sure thing
TG: contrary to what you may have been taught
TG: babies are generally not made in labs by goobers giving away free bunnies
EB: oh wow really dave? this is new information to me! if only i had paid more attention in school.
EB: by which i mean shut up.
EB: it is kinda about that, though.
TG: whoa seriously
EB: again, shut up!
TG: no im just a little surprised
TG: figured youd awkwardly search google and delete your history flipping out like a consort with a shiny new hat
TG: oh my god oh my god what if daddy egbert walked in oh my god
TG: but im ok with this
TG: welcome to remedial sex ed kids
TG: im coach strider and im here to help you understand the changes your body is going through
EB: bluh bluh bluh!
EB: i’m coach strider and i’m here to never shut the fuck up.
TG: got me there
EB: it’s not really something i can look up.
EB: promise not to laugh, okay?
TG: scouts honor bro
EB: before the game, i always kinda felt like i was being watched.
EB: especially whenever i... you know.
TG: spanked it
EB: ew, but yeah.
EB: i always thought it was like, creepy voyeur ghosts.
EB: you can laugh at that part.
TG: thank god
EB: heheh, yeah.
EB: i could manage to ignore it when stuff got really bad! i mean, i thought they were just really weird ghosts.
EB: but once i started really talking to the trolls...
TG: oh
EB: yeah.
EB: i mean, i don’t think they’re just sitting around, watching me do stuff.
EB: but it feels like it!
EB: and no matter how hard i try, that’s all i can think about, and i can’t focus on sexy thoughts.
TG: like animal crackers
EB: like shut up dave, that scene was so intimate, everything you like sucks.
EB: it’s so bad i haven’t been able to finish in like, weeks.
TG: holy shit
EB: yeah!
EB: i am pretty much about to die.
EB: any ideas?
TG: youve tried porn right
EB: of course.
TG: hold up some kinda sign
TG: im gonna beat off now plz go away
EB: i can name at least three trolls who would want to watch even more if i did that.
TG: fair enough
TG: nice dark blanket fort
EB: tried it.
EB: awesome, but useless.
TG: well damn this is serious
TG: not many problems a blanket fort cant fix
EB: true that.
TG: hm
TG: so youre pretty desperate
TG: as long as you get off youre not too picky
EB: uh... i guess so?
TG: k
TG: hold tight

Your name is John Egbert, and you hold tight. It’s a little difficult though, because you are seriously losing it over this. Everything is turning you on and you can’t do shit about it! You’re just sitting there watching a movie or eating dinner or doing homework and bam, suddenly Awkward Bonersville, population you. It is frustrating! You’d like to trust your troll buddies not to be creeps, but maybe watching people masturbate is something they do. It sure feels like it is, and you just can’t bring yourself to be culturally sensitive about that. They should be culturally sensitive to your need for a little privacy, dang it.

You jump a little when the door opens and Dave steps into your room. You offer him a weak “Oh, hey,” as you collect yourself, turning towards him in your spinny chair, flicking the switch on your desk lamp because he’s a ridiculous dork who refuses to take off his birthday shades. You figured he was just off formulating some kind of plan, not coming to your room! Your brain submits that he is considering a hands-on solution, and then somehow winks at you, but you abjure the hell out of that submission. Dave Strider is one of your best friends. Several of your trips to Awkward Bonersville have been sponsored by the Dave Strider Corporation, and you know you can’t help that, but you don’t want to objectify someone you love like that. Actively fantasizing about him jacking you off is weird and not okay.

So you’re understandably confused when he replies, “Hey. Want me to jack you off?”

“Sorry?” you say, unsure if you actually heard those words or if your brain is just so addled that it’s started replacing people’s words with propositions.

“Shit, that was weird, wasn’t it,” he curses, pushing his shades into the bridge of his nose. Oh god, you totally heard him right. “Forget it. It was a joke. Haha, me jacking you off. My best one yet.”

“Dave, you are full of shit!” you inform him, even though you are pretty sure he is aware of that already.

“Yeah. Sorry. I thought it might help. Oh, you can’t get off because it feels like people are watching you? Why don’t you actually get someone in your physical presence to lavish a little tender loving care on your groin geoduck? Just how high do you even have to be?” He pronounces geoduck like Geodude, but you let it slide. There are more important things on your mind.

“Dave? I don’t mean to interrupt, but I am pretty sure I never said no.” This stops the self-flagellation train in its tracks, and he moves closer until he’s standing over you. He’s trying to seem cool, but you know that for whatever knowledge he’s picked up from the internet, inexperience has him just as nervous as you are.

“Didn’t say yes either.”

“Then I guess I should say it now. Why yes, Dave, I think it would be pretty great if you jacked me off!” You probably shouldn’t tease him, but coolkid concern is just so funny to you.

“You’re a pretty cruel kid, Egbert,” he tells you, reaching out to grasp the collar of your Ghost Dad shirt (so awesome, alchemizing shirts with your movies was one of your best ideas ever) and tugging lightly so you’ll stand up. “Making me promise not to laugh at you, being so needy I can’t help but come in and offer my assistance, then giggling at me when I show a little basic consideration.” He leads you over to your bed, where he sits, and then pulls you into his lap. It’s not the most comfortable you’ve ever been, but comfortable is just about the last thing on your mind when his hands slide down to your hips, lifting up your shirt to play with the waistband of your quickly tenting pajama pants. “I got half a mind to leave.”

“Oh god, please don’t. That half sucks, the other half is awesome.” You’re kind of embarrassed, he’s hardly done anything yet and you’re already begging. An idea that seems pretty good pops into your head, and you decide you might as well embarrass yourself further, so you lean forward to kiss him. Nothing super passionate, but right on the lips and everything. He’s kind of unresponsive though, and your glasses just keep clacking together and threatening to fall off, so you back away, feeling a little sheepish. “Uh... sorry. I just figured having my first kiss before my first handjob would be a good idea.”

You can practically see him considering the morbid joke that it’s your second, and shit, he wasn’t much livelier than number one, was he? But he decides against it. “Kinda old-fashioned, but whatever slimes your Venkman. Give a guy a little warning though, a Strider needs some prep time.”

Apparently, the purpose of Strider prep time is for the Strider to remove his shades. You take off your glasses as well, and set them down on your bedside table before attempting to do the kissy thing a second time, and wow, is it ever different when the other person kisses back! Sure, your teeth are kinda in the way, and Dave’s a little overenthusiastic with the tongue, and neither of you really have any idea what you’re doing at all, but it feels good and nice and a lot of adjectives you’re not used to applying to best friend activities. Like, hot. Such scandalous thoughts make you groan into his mouth a little, which makes him groan back, which you are definitely okay describing as hot.

For all that you make fun of Dave’s weird ironic hipster hobbies, years of DJing have made him good a) with his hands, and b) at multitasking. As he is currently demonstrating by getting back to his original goal of pulling your pants down, without so much as a hiccup in the sloppy makeouts even when you have to wriggle around a little to help him. It’s so weird when he’s genuinely smooth. You’re a little disappointed the whole shebang’s being pulled down to your knees in one go, because you were kinda hoping he’d get a good laugh out of your Little Monsters boxers (alchemizing underwear with movies was your other best idea ever), but it’s hard to be too let down with a nice warm hand grabbing your newly freed business.

Physically, it’s not all that different from your own hand. You’ve got those piano fingers, and Dave’s skin is a little rougher from all that hardcore sword fighting, but a hand’s a hand. It must be the knowledge that it’s not only someone else’s hand, but Dave Strider’s hand, that’s turning your bones into the gooey stuff inside Gushers, only untainted by the Batterwitch’s malevolent machinations. You break the kiss so you can slump forward against him, because you seriously feel like you’re going to fall over, and you’re a little surprised at just how needy you sound when you whine in the general direction of his ear, “C’mon, Dave.”

“Patience, young Padawanton. The DJ will set the tempo.” The words are smooth, but he must be a little surprised too, because you hear the strain in his voice. Nonetheless, set the tempo he does, at too fucking slow beats per minute. He’s handling your whathaveyou like it might break, and it’s not like it feels bad, it’s actually really tender and wonderful, but you are desperate! You need a little more than that mushy stuff.

“Dave, it doesn’t have ‘handle with care’ written on it.”

“Imagine that,” he chuckles, the speed of his ministrations infuriatingly unchanged. He’s teasing you, the douchebag. You consider just punching him in the arm to make him go faster, but... well, maybe there’s a more rewarding way to get what you need. (Hehehehehe.)

“Daaaaaaaaave,” you moan in the sexiest way you know how. You’re pretty sure it’s not all that sexy in the grand scheme of sexy things, but you figure it’s sexy enough for your purposes by the way his steady beat stutters like an ill-timed disc scratch. He recovers quickly enough, but now you know that you can definitely get through to him. You angle your head to plant light kisses on his neck, then all of a sudden you bite down hard. He jerks with a gasp that lowers into a hum of appreciation as you suck at the tender skin, holy crap that’s hot. It’ll definitely leave a mark; maybe you’ll lend him a turtleneck if he’s nice. He collects himself and resumes his business with your business. He’s definitely starting to give you what you want, but you can’t appreciate it for long, you’re so greedy you can’t seem to help yourself.

“Fuck, Dave, please!” you plead, and don’t even need to affect the desperation, the breathy little moans every time his hand moves just right, the way you cling onto him like he’s the only thing in the world (which he pretty much is, since you can’t see shit without your glasses), or how you keep thrusting into his hand, trying to get more any way you can. He complies, lifting whatever limits he’s set and going to town, you can’t see his face and you don’t trust yourself not to fall over if you lean back to take a look, but it’s a completely disheveled totally un-Striderly mess, and normally you’d laugh at that, but it’s just more of a turn-on right now, and you can feel yourself getting close, you can’t even be embarrassed that it took so little time, you’re finally going to beat those fucking trolls, and--

Oh god fucking dammit why did you have to think of trolls? Your best friend was jacking you off and it was perfect in every possible way and you had to go and think of trolls. Now they’re watching you and being creeps and you can feel the sexiness being sucked out of the room. Apparently, Dave can feel it too, because he slowly loosens his grasp on your situation. You feel like you’re about to cry.

“Trolls, huh?” he asks, panting.

“Yeah. I... sorry. All that for nothing. You can borrow a turtleneck,” you pant back. Yet... he doesn’t seem like he’s quite finished. There’s a glint of determination in his eyes. He has nice eyes.

“Mind if we try one more thing?”

“Go ahead,” you reply. You don’t mean to sound so listless. You do feel like it’s a pretty useless endeavor, but anything’s worth a shot. He grabs your shirt by the sleeves, and pulls it off. He then helps you to your feet (you’re still kinda wobbly) and pulls your pants down the rest of the way. Finally, he lays you down on your bed, and sits down beside you, still fully clothed.

“Now, repeat after me. Hey, trolls.”

“Hey, trolls.”

“I know you’re watching, so my lovely assistant Dave and I are gonna give you a show.”

“I know you’re watching, so my lovely assistant Dave and I are gonna give you a show.” Suddenly, you’re a little worried.

“I’m gonna look ten times more fuckable than anything in your piece of shit universe.”

“I’m gonna look ten times more fuckable than anything in your piece of shit universe.” Holy shit what is he doing? For that matter, what are you doing?

“And you can’t have me, alien scum.”

“And you can’t have me, alien scum.” Okay, you giggle a little at that one.

“Now flip off the invisible magic viewport camera.” You do so. “Excellent. Now live up to your promise.” Your mind is racing. Put on a show? Ten times more fuckable? You have no idea how fuckable the most fuckable thing in the trolls’ universe is, much less how to quantify fuckability. You’ve never really thought of yourself as attractive. But before you know it, Dave’s back in the ring. Round two, Dave Strider versus John Egbert’s uncooperative junk, fight.

Okay. You can do this. You can... think of it as a prank. You imagine Karkat sitting at his computer desk, glowering at the gauntlet that has been thrown down. TEN TIMES? WEIRD ALIEN RAMBLING THAT ESSENTIALLY BOILS DOWN TO “IMPOSSIBLE, FLESHY HUMAN!” Well, maybe you’ll show him just what a fleshy human can do.

You focus your eyes on Dave, who looks concerned until you arch up into his touch. Then a hint of a smile appears, and he starts to really work your stuff. Not hard and fast like before, you’ll let it build up naturally, make Karkat really sweat. It occurs to you that it’s slightly weird to specifically imagine Karkat, but pretty much everything about this is weird. Like Dave! You were pretty sure he wouldn’t be totally impassive about all these shenanigans, but you were driving him pretty wild before, and his face is indeed a total mess. But it’s like, equal parts turned on and feelingsy! He keeps looking up at you all concerned and fond and it’s kinda sweet. Is this romantic? You have no idea, and your brain isn’t really in any condition to devote much thought to it. Shh, only handjobs now.

You shift your focus back to the sexiness, trying to loosen your grip on those inhibitions. You wriggle and writhe on the bed in a way that makes you feel sort of silly, but it gets a choked squeak out of Dave, so it can’t be all that bad. You close your eyes and try to picture Karkat, gripping the armrests of whatever weird alien name he calls his chair, shaking in fury because he is so turned on, and whoa you never thought of it that way why did you never think of it that way. Your hips jerk into the air, you open your eyes, and Dave looks a little smug, like he knows what’s going through your brain. You resist the urge to stick your tongue out at him.

“Spread your legs, show ‘em a little ass.” That is pretty much the grossest thing Dave has ever said to you, and Dave has said a lot of gross things to you. Nonetheless, you acquiesce, spreading your legs and bending your knees to give Karkat a nice complete view of your downstairs. There’s practically steam coming out of his ears, he can’t take it anymore. He shoves his pants down to get a hold of his weird alien junk that for the purposes of this fantasy looks like human junk, only greyer. He doesn’t even hate you that way, he can’t believe he’s been brought to this. Buddyship canceled, bye bye buddyship.

You let out something in between a laugh and a moan, and then you look at Dave again and you’re finding it harder and harder to laugh at him. His hair is sticking to his forehead, his breathing is almost as ragged as yours, and he can’t stop staring at you with those eyes that are suddenly looking more hot than plain old nice. It doesn’t just make you feel attractive, it makes you feel ten times more fuckable than anything in anyone’s universe, which might be a little presumptuous, but you don’t give a crap. You whimper, “Shit, Dave,” and he sounds like he’s about to die. In a sexy way.

You notice him squirming, and your brain’s imagination department submits him making a mess in his jeans, and then it’s Karkat not being able to reach a bucket in time, and back in reality Dave’s being so vigorous it almost hurts but it feels so awesome, and you’re almost there, you wait for the feeling to suddenly disappear like it always does, but it doesn’t, it punches you in the face.

A couple minutes later, you are coherent enough to determine that nothing punched you in the face. The only thing that hit your face was your jizz, which is kinda gross because it’s all over you, but you are not going to complain because holy fuck that was fantastic. Maybe even worth the wait? Not in terms of the physical sensation, but quite possibly in terms of how many Daves helped you out.

Speaking of Dave, he returns from his trek to your bedside table with the entire box of tissues. He wipes your face off first because he is a true romantic. As soon as you’ve managed to get most of the jizz off, you hug him. “You are the greatest. It’s you.”

“Shit, you’re gonna make me blush, John.” You laugh, because he’s already blushing. And so rumpled, for someone who didn’t really move around all that much. “So... mission accomplished. I’ll get out of your hair now.”

“Oh no you don’t!” you all but yell, standing up and reversing your positions to throw him onto the mattress. It’s a little clumsy, but he plays along, just lying there as you clamber up on top of him, leaning down to kiss him all hard and passionate and stuff. When you break the kiss, you’re both grinning like total dorks. You’re pretty sure this is romantic. Or at least, whatever passes for romantic when it comes to you two. “You’re not going anywhere. I’m gonna slime the heck out of your Venkman.”

“Gross, dude.” You kiss him again, eager to show him a little love. He’s waited his turn long enough.