When Dave wanders into the kitchen of their tiny dorm-suite at seven A.M. on a Saturday morning, John careens violently backwards against the refrigerator, clutching desperately at his chest as he sucks in a noisy gasp of sheer astonishment. Dave flips him off—or, more like he flaps his arm in John’s general direction and weakly twitches his middle finger, then shuffles ghostlike towards him.
“Ha, real goddamn funny,” he grumbles. “Move.”
John laughs, a genuine counter to Dave’s gritty faux-chortle. “Dave, you are the sweetest petunia in the morning, it is you,” he says, shifting out of the way. “You’re up early.”
“Wrong,” Dave grunts, bungling around in the refrigerator. “If I got up at ten, that would be early. Nine, that’s a miracle. John, it is seven in the fucking morning. That I am awake right now is nothing short of direct intervention by the holy hotpoker of God himself. Obviously I am carrying the christchild.”
“Wow, you’re even monologuing!” John says. “Normally you don’t talk for like, twenty minutes! You just make these little gurgly noises. Dave, maybe you’re right. Should I go, like, tell it on the mountain? Because I’m kind of making toast right now.”
“Nah, dude. It’s all Monster talking, not me.” Dave finally withdraws from the fridge with a bottle of apple juice, which he blearily swigs. “Didn’t sleep last night.”
John grimaces at him. “Why not?”
Dave shrugs, leaning back against the counter. The toaster bleats behind him, and John has to nudge him aside.
“I starting working on my English paper. Kind of got on a roll.”
John looks up from buttering his toast. "I thought you said that wasn’t due until Wednesday.”
Dave shrugs again.
“Who are you,” John whispers in horror, holding the slice of perfectly buttered wheat in front of him like a multigrain bulwark.
Dave gives him his best flatface, which is essentially ruined by the Minnie Mouse hairclip he’s used to pin back his bangs. “Anyway, bro, I need a favor.”
“Things got a little surreal about two hours ago,” he says. “Do you think you could maybe read this thing over for me? Maybe make sure I actually wrote a conclusion, because I kind of think I just wrote and then they fuck.” Dave takes another pull of juice, then caps the bottle and puts in back in the fridge.
“I mean, I don’t mind,” John shrugs, “but why not ask Rose? She’s way better with this stuff than I am.”
Dave regards John over his sunglasses. He’s not as rigid with “the modesty of his maraschinos” as he was when they first moved in together two years ago, but it still pleases John somewhere deep and comfortable whenever he sees them; like a geisha’s wrist, or a wife’s ankle. Wow, that got so weird. Whatever!
“Seriously? If I gave her my shitty six page paper she’d hand me back an eighty page thesis on why it’s all code for me being a homosexual sociopath with a raging daddy complex, annotated bibliography included.”
“Haha, ew, dude,” John laughs. “My dad’s off limits!”
Dave offers a quick, small smile. John also likes those. “I’m gonna take a shower. I think I’ll go in early today at the shop.”
John, having just crammed most of his breakfast in his mouth in one go, gives Dave a toastily concerned look. “Yorr goin’ to work when you ha’ent slepp?”
Dave begins his trek to the bathroom. It’s not a very long one; their place is seriously small, just a kitchen-living room combo, two bedrooms, and the aforementioned powder room. “I’ll just sleep in the back. S’not like Bro gives a shit.”
“Okay! I can give you a ride on my scooter if you think--”
“Ugh, no, your scooter is the stupidest,” Dave calls over his shoulder.
“It is not!” John cries.
“Definitely is, bro,” Dave says gravely. John thinks he should maybe feel a little bad for punching Dave as hard as he does (“I’m in a vulnerable state, you dick! I wasn’t even looking!”) but he doesn’t, because even tired, Dave has a really great smile.
After John felt a sword through his chest, after Rose blacked her brains with spikes and dark whispers, after Jade left and went someplace far away and then came back to them and didn’t want to be there, after Dave got to watch himself go limp on blades and fat imp claws and sometimes his own shaking hands, whatever central processor at the core of their big fucked-up macrouniverse thought it would be hilarious, just a scream to send them home and give them pencils and paper and tell them: okay, thanks, be normal now.
It was hard, and then it wasn’t. It never got easy, but slowly, slowly John stopped having dreams about his dad’s blood at his feet. When he woke up the First Morning, he could still feel the trolls’ sticky, bruised arms around him, around them all, shaking with relief and pain and the fearful question what now, but then his dad opened his door and immediately strode over to his bed and enveloped him in a strong, silent hug. His dad’s slightly unsteady embrace wasn’t better than the trolls’, but it certainly wasn’t worse, and he thought, alright, I can be okay with this.
After breakfast, John went upstairs and checked his computer to see a single pesterchum window flashing on his desktop.
TG: did all that happen
The immediacy and complete lack of coolkid bullshit in Dave’s words was enough to convince John that for a while, yes, they were gods.
EB: dave! yeah, it happened. are you okay?
TG: yeah im fine
TG: bros here
EB: my dad is here, too!
EB: have you heard from rose and jade?
As if on cue, two (john are you okay?? we did it! :D) windows (John, I have a somewhat peculiar but in no way insignifcant query: does the phrase ‘ablution trap’ have any particular cadence for you?) popped open on John’s screen.
TG: im really glad youre okay man
Eight years later they’re all four at so-and-so university, because those who die together cram for bio exams together, right? Oddly, Bro followed, opening up a mildly successful record and music tech shop not far from campus. Dave works there sometimes to help with bills and gas for his absolutely garbage pickup, and John picks him up on his (totally rad, shut up dave!) scooter when his truck sometimes doesn’t start in summer.
They go to school. They get drunk sometimes. They play video games (what the fuck harley how are you even that good at soul calibur), they jam, they crash the occasional uni theatre cast party, and sometimes, on clear nights, they can even pester the trolls.
Sometimes John feels a little guilty because he loves all of his friends so much, he really does, but one of his absolute favorite things about After is that he gets to live with Dave. It’s not like he likes Dave more than Jade or Rose, but he just—it’s different. Dave Strider, his dumb, hipster, tragically-bad-at-swimming but curiously-good-at-whistling best friend who knows all the best things to put on a pizza but has to scoop eggshell out of every egg he fries—it’s really great to know these secret things about him that no one else gets to see. Sometimes it feels like he’s the only one who knows the real Dave, and it makes John’s chest feel bright and full to think about that. He’s never seen anyone make Dave laugh as hard as he can (especially when he starts quoting that one GI Joe PSA), and last year when John wrote Dave a song on his keyboard for Christmas because they were both too broke to buy anything, Dave had thumbed suspiciously behind his shades.
“Tears of pride, my child,” Dave said. “Manly, ironic pride.”
Things are. Well, they’re pretty alright, John thinks.
“I emailed you the file,” Dave says, hair still damp as he grabs a poptart from the cabinet.
“Okay, cool! I bet it’s bad. Like, so bad,” John says from the couch, laptop perched on the armrest.
Dave scoffs. “Whatever. Prepare to cream your proverbial panties from my literal prowess.”
“Literary prowess,” John corrects.
“Bye Dave!” John chirps as Dave grumbles out of the door.
John wedges himself comfortably into the cushions, textbooks piled on one side and laptop on the other. He usually gets up early on Saturdays and powers through most of his homework, a practice which, according to Dave, is not only inhuman but also severely unhealthy for all those in a two mile radius of his person. Egbert, think of the babies. He can certainly take some time to read over his best bro’s crazy midnight paper, though!
John opens his email client, absently chewing his pen. Sure enough, perched at the top of his inbox is an email from email@example.com, right above his weekly FunnyguyForums newsletter. He opens it, and it reads:
attachment: sdjfhkdjfg.doc (427 kb)
Geeze, that’s a big paper, John thinks as he opens the attachment. I guess he really did get on a roll!
The document opens on his screen.
dave striders journal alternatively titled why do i listen to my sister alternatively titled how do i hold all these feels alternatively titled god dammit
John stares at his screen. What a weird title for a paper!
OH. His brain goes click! and John’s prankster’s gambit practically seizes with delight.
Dave Strider, in his glorious, blessedly sleepy stupor, accidentally sent John Egbert, UNEQUIVOCATED PRINCE OF PRANKS AND THANE OF TOMFOOLERY, his private diary.
Oh, John feels faint.
He immediately gets out his phone and types up a message to Dave: hey dave, i think you sent me the wrong file! hehehe :B He then sets it to send in about ten minutes, when Dave’s already at work. He’ll read it and freak out, and be forced to agonize all day until he gets home over his dumb girly secrets being revealed! Oh, man!
John isn’t actually going to read it, of course. That’s the beauty of a good prank: getting someone all riled up over absolutely nothing. This is his best friend’s personal sanctuary, too! Not much is sacred in the esteemed Egbert-Strider bachelor pad; they trade clothes (oh, hey, John realizes, he’s wearing Dave’s Ironic Winnie the Pooh sweatpants right now [the say adorable on the butt]), eat each other’s food, even occasionally share beds (there are the nightmare nights and there are the tequila nights), so what kind of crappy awful friend would he be if he denied Dave his one corner of privacy in the big sweaty Swedish sauna that is their friendship? Wow, that got super weird again.
John’s mouse hovers over the X. He stares at the red text, seeing but not reading. Then, a mischievous smile curls his mouth.
He could just...read a little. Enough to gather one or two minor details and really freak Dave out when he gets home. He can just see Dave’s face at the store: cool nonchalance, then sudden horror as he mouths the text message, “You had a crush on HER? Wow, Dave!”
“For science,” John declares, and pulls his computer into his lap.
here we go i guess
i dont even know why im doing this lalonde doesnt have a damn clue what shes talking about
“keeping a journal can help you discover the heart of your problems gay gay i need to get laid”
i already know what’s at the heart of this complete assfuck of a situation dr lalongwinded ive known it for years but sitting around marinating in a stew of this knowledge and my own anime tears isnt helping so
ill try this or whatever
im just so tired of dealing with this shit
i just want to fucking
well actually it would be a lot easier if that was just
if all i wanted was to fuck him
because then i could close my eyes in the shower and think about johns doofy face and jack off a couple times until some other piece of sweet ass caught my add dicks attention
thatd be it yknow
but its not i want more than that
jesus i want to make love to hi
John slams his laptop shut.
"Holy shit," John breathes.
This is NOT something he expected! He feels light headed; his heart is currently beating so fast it feels like it's trying to tear itself out of his chest cavity and run screaming down the dorm halls. Did he really just read that?! He can see his own bugged out eyes in the dimly reflective case in his lap, but he can't seem to look anywhere else. It feels heavy and hot in his lap, like a living thing sitting there, pumping blood and burning and wanting to have se-sex with John Egbert!
He thinks, first, it must be a prank.
"This is a prank," John announces, but his voice is shaking and his heart is still training for the Olympic sprint so he knows he doesn't believe it. Dave doesn't prank people, he ironies at them until they either want to lick his shoes or hit his face (John, incidentally, wants to do neither of those things and cannot understand why anyone else falls for his bullshit).
It can't be real, though. Dave doesn't...Dave isn't! He can't! He dated that girl once, sort of?! And they're best bros, so like!? UHHH.
"I would have noticed!" John argues aloud. He feels a little bit like crying, but he doesn't know why. He knows he isn't upset because he can’t be, the upsetter in question here is Dave and John’s brain just doesn’t work like that, but his mind is buzzing almost as loudly as his heartbeat in his ears, and he feels hot all over. He just needs to--calm down. Calm down. He closes his eyes and presses his hands to his face.
"Okay," he says. "Okay. Okay, okay. Heir of breath, gotta breathe." He does so. "Okay." John tries hard to think about the black space behind his eyelids and a rythmic breathing pattern, not red text or blond hair or the fact that he is maybe just a little bit kind of turned on right now. "Shit."
John can think of only one person who would know what to do in this situation.
He licks his lips, doesn't taste clouds--he still has this weird affinity for shit going on in the sky, after Everything--and opens pesterchum.
ED: hey karkat? are you awake?
There is no reply for a moment. Then:
CG: DUE TO CIRCUMSTANCES OF ABYSMAL MISFORTUNE AND GENERAL INEXPLICABLE SHITTINESS, YES, JOHN, I AM AWAKE. EVEN WORSE, I AM NOW TALKING TO YOU. WHAT THE GLOBEFONDLING FUCK DO YOU WANT.
ED: oh, thank goodness! karkat i am freaking out over here. i really need your help!
CG: JOHN, I TOLD YOU BEFORE THAT I DON'T KNOW HOW YOUR CREEPY SPECIES PRODUCES ITS HIDEOUS AND PERSONALLY NAUSEATING OFFSPRING. DON'T YOU FUCKERS HAVE GOOGLE?
ED: shut up, it's not about that! i um, or maybe? i don't know!
CG: WHAT, SERIOUSLY?! OH MY FUCKING GOD.
ED: no karkat i think dave wants to make babies with me and i don't know what to do and i am seriously flipping my shit karkat karkat karkat!!!!!!!!
CG: WAIT, WOAH, CALM THE FUCK DOWN. SHUT UP.
CG: FIRST, I THOUGHT YOU SAID DURING A CONVERSATION THAT MAKES ME ILL TO RECALL THAT MANHUMANS CAN'T DO GRUBS TOGETHER? OR WHATEVER. I HONESTLY DON'T FUCKING REMEMBER BECAUSE I'D RATHER EAT MY OWN BLOODPUSHER THAN TALK ABOUT YOUR GROSS SEXUAL PRACTICES.
CG: SECOND, BECAUSE I AM AN ABSOLUTELY GODLIKE RESEVOIR OF ROMANTIC KNOWHOW, AND HALLOWED BE MY FUCKING NAME, I'LL HELP YOU.
CG: NOW, TELL ME WHY YOU THINK STRIDER WANTS TO TOUCH YOUR WEIRD NIPPLE THINGS.
EB: ugh, no men can't make babies and dave doesn't want my nipples! but...well, maybe he does.
EB: he wanted me to read a paper for him, but i think he accidentally sent me his super secret diary or something?
EB: and i started reading it and he was talking about, uh, you know.
CG: NO, JOHN, I DON'T FUCKING KNOW. THAT'S WHY I ASKED YOU TO EXPLAIN IT TO ME, YOU EXHAUSTINGLY STUPID PIECE OF SHIT.
EB: bluh bluh bluh fine! he said he wanted to...oh geeze.
EB: fuck me.
EB: and also make love to me.
EB: which are two different things, i guess? i mean, i know they are but he made a conscious effort to make a distinction between the two! which demonstrates a wide range of emotional meaning, maybe?
CG: COOL, SOUNDS LIKE YOU'VE GOT IT, FUCK YOU AND GOODBYE.
EB: karkat, no! please help!
CG: IS THAT ALL HE SAID?
EB: i don't know, there was a lot more i didn't read.
CG: WELL READ IT, MORON.
EB: i can't! that's his personal diary!
CG: LOOK, JOHN, YOU WANTED MY ADVICE, HERE IT IS: READ THE FUCKING THING. OBVIOUSLY IT AFFECTS YOU IN SOME SIGNIFICANT AND NO DOUBT REVOLTING WAY, OTHERWISE YOU WOULDN'T HAVE COME GROVELLING TO MY FEET FOR HELP.
EB: hey. i wasn't groveling.
CG: WHATEVER HELPS YOU SLEEP DURING THE DAY, FUCKWIT.
CG: READ IT. IF IT STIRS YOUR OILY, SMELLY HUMAN NETHERS, THEN GREAT. PERFECT. GO MAKE BABIES, OR DON'T, JUST PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE FOR THE SAKE OF MY RAPIDLY FRACTURING SANITY DON'T TELL ME ABOUT IT.
CG: IF IT MAKES YOU WANT TO CHOKE ON YOUR OWN VOMIT AND DIE, DO THAT. OR MAKE STRIDER DO THAT.
CG: PROBLEM SLOVED. OKAY?
EB: uh...okay, i guess.
CG: ARE WE FINISHED HERE?
EB: yeah, i think so. thanks karkat. i really appreciate it!
CG: WHATEVER. BYE.
CG: AND UH, GOOD LUCK I GUESS.
John sighs. Karkat's right, in his weirdly indirect way from which John has learned to glean genuine meaning: he has to read Dave's sexy diary and find out if Dave wants to "make babies" with him or make babies with him. Yep. That’s it. It's all perfectly clear, now.
John mentally steels himself. He opens his laptop. He closes it. He opens it again, and stares at it. He looks around (for what?), takes off his hoodie (because the laptop fan is making him warm, that's the only reason!), opens the document, and starts where he left off.
jesus i want to make love to him like disney
all doe eyes and music and forest animals okay maybe no forest animals unless he wanted them because i would seriously do just about anything for a chance between egberts legs
id probably shoot myself in the foot
if john walked up to me and said hey dave you should get a tattoo of a corncob on your ass id say hell no
okay dave what if i sat on your face after
uh hi hello no regrets tattoo parlor book me for one butt corncob please and make it snappy i have a hot date tonight
maybe thats the saddest part
or maybe its all the things i would do but wont
because i would rather die of testicular suffocation than lose him because he thinks im some greasy palmed pervert who touches his feet while he sleeps at night
ps i dont do that
he just makes me want to die sometimes
how i can see like 27 of his teeth when he smiles
his awful puns
the way his smell gets in my clothes
one time he held my hand as a joke at the movies haha dave its like were on a date!!!!!!!! and i just
wanted to kiss him on his little mouth
but hes so precious sometimes i feel like a huge creep for wanting to dirty him up
for wanting to be able to smell his sweat
to see his pretty swollen dick against his stomach
i want him saying dave god yes dave fuck me harder yes right there right there dont stop please dave dont stop
as i pound into his tight ass and maybe ill stick my fingers in his mouth and let him suck on those and get his spit all on my hand i dont care id lick it off and come down his back
should take care of this before he gets back
signed number one john egberts butt enthusiast
John gulps. The—the fan in his laptop is awfully warm. He shifts slightly, and becomes abruptly aware that he’s biting his lower lip hard enough to numb it; he lets it go, tonguing absently at the abused flesh.
“Oh, geeze,” John mutters. He removes his glasses and wipes them on his shirt. He feels...he isn’t quite sure what. He feels a little dirty, but not in the way he expects he should: he’s more bothered by his continued invasion of his friend’s privacy than he is by any...salacious remarks made by the figure in question.
Is this okay? Should he be doing this? John can’t help but feel that he’s nudging himself into something he shouldn’t; he isn’t suppose to know that Dave wants to put his fingers in his mouth and, uh, oh, um, but it’s strange because there is this quiet growl in the back of his head that says go on. He thinks maybe it’s like watching someone fall off of a building or a cliff, you just can’t look away, but then he thinks it’s not like that at all because there’s no sick curl in his stomach, no sudden icy sweat on his neck, just an unnamed heat and a low vibration in his limbs.
John’s fingers move and his mind whirls whatwhatwhatamidoing for all of two seconds and then he shuts it off, just keeps scrolling until he gets to a block of text several pages later.
welcome to the support group dave what would you like to talk about today how about your traumatic childhood filled with puppet ass or maybe your abandonment issues with your brodad or how about
none of that matters because today i witnessed the most cripplingly horrible thing in my entire miserable existence and that is saying a lot because i have literally experienced death motherfuckers
so were at rose and jades playing this stupid drinking game with all of these ridiculous fucking rules that go with cards and i swear jade changes the rules every goddamn time but thats not important
so rose gets the card that means never have i ever
she says never have i ever slept in sunglasses because she basically tries every time we drink to get me roaring shitfaced probably so she can get me to sloppily confess all my deep dark psychological secrets to her
but anyway so i take my drink whatever and its jades turn
she says never have i ever gotten oral
and im like damn sucks for you lil lady or maybe not but anyway i drink and so does rose that carpetmuncher but i notice
john doesnt drink
Oh, hell. John remembers this. His face gets hot(ter) when he remembers how Dave looked at him, surprise evident in his lifted brows and open mouth. Back then it had made a little curl of anger lance through him—what, Dave, so I’m not cool because I haven’t--but now he thinks maybe there was something else in those red, secret eyes.
and i couldnt fucking help it i just look at him and say seriously egbert youve never
and he wont even let me finish he just paps me in the face and says shut up dave god and we laugh it off but inside i was flipping my shit and i still am because
jesus i had no idea
i had no idea hed never gotten head before
i figured when he was with whatsername they
they did it i know they did he told me all fucking about it and i had to say awesome congrats bro lets go out for celebratory unvirginity pancakes while on the inside my bitter chewy raisin heart turned ever so slightly prunier
John also remembers this; he had dated a girl through most of his second semester—Hannah—and she was actually really great! They even had sex, but after a couple of nights at her apartment he started to feel bad about doing it, like he wasn’t being completely honest with her.
“I wasn’t in love with her,” he told Dave after he gave him news of the breakup. He felt pretty crappy about it, even cried a little bit, but Dave kissed the top of his head and took him out for Thai.
i cant believe she didnt even suck his dick
what a cunt
i dont mean that she was alright even listened to some decent music but FUCK
if anyone deserves to get their dick wet its john egbert and i would absolutely worship that cock i am dead fucking serious
i would worship you
John’s heart performs a triple acrobatic rocket flip right into his throat. He looks at the door, panicked, pulse a rapid snaredrum in his ears, but no one’s there and he feels stupid. And a little short of breath. And a lot (more) turned on. The shift in pronouns reminds him of what he’s doing, sneaking around and spying on his best friend’s personal moments (Dave trusts me I shouln’t do this), but it also instills a kind of thrill in him he can’t name. It’s like Dave is actually talking to him, actually saying these things, and he doesn’t think he should like that but he does, he likes it a lot. He’s back to chewing at his lip again but he mostly doesn’t notice, attention returning to his computer screen.
because you deserve it god dammit
you probably dont even know how its done do you babe
you dont know how to suck cock
id teach you
id show you first with my mouth on you
id kiss down your stomach and suck on the insides of your thighs until you were already leaking by the time i got to your dick
id take you in my hand
bet you feel so good and hot
and id lay it against my tongue
id lick you nice and slow make sure to swallow all that precome until youre slick with my spit
then id put the tip in my mouth
kiss it until i taste you
then baby id go down on you like a texan prom queen on the star quarterback behind the bleachers
id hit the fucking base and youd whine behind your hands all jammed against your mouth
always so fucking polite
and then id suck hard and pull back up jesus the sounds youd make
then maybe after a while once ive got you real worked up i can slick up my finger and work in your ass twisting around until i find that sweet spot
and youd scream when i find it
probably blow it in my mouth right there
you were always a fast learner i bet you could give it a go after you catch your breath
the thought of my dick against your lips
your tongue all shy at first
i dont think youd be able to fit it all but oh my god later maybe i could push all the way in down your throat but for now ill be nice and touch your hair as you suck half my cock into your mouth
id show you how to rub the rest and maybe youd get brave and cup my balls and youd be moaning and maybe just maybe you slip back a little more and rub that place behind my
would you swallow my jizz
or let me do it on your face
cant think of much else prettier than my come dripping down your cheek except maybe kissing you after and tasting myselffskldhflkf
shitfuck you just walked in my room with me half polishing my knob with a laptop on my chest
i think you thought i fell asleep doing hw
you took a picture you smarmy dork but i had to sit still
anyway i am going to lock my door and finish this now
signed young and cockhungry
John feels simultaneously more awake than he’s been in years and fuzz-sleepy with a warm flush that seems to glow on his entire body. When he scrolls to another page, the nervous guilt is but a distant crow in the summery field of his mind, and Dave is the sexy farmhand.
fucking god dammit egbert
theres a line
theres a LINE okay got it and
i stay on my side even though i want to go over to yours and fuck you crosseyed but i dont i stay on my goddamn side like a good boy alright
you just doop doop derp waddle over to my side sometimes and you pull this shit that
you cant DO that
and expect me to keep my hands to myself okay i am a man i have needs and you are john and you have no fucking idea what you do to me
you are not allowed to ask me to bring you that new shampoo you forgot on the counter while you are in the shower okay
you cant invite me into the space where you are naked and wet and then tell me to fuck off in so many words after ive performed my menial task of delivering your stupid coconut shampoo when all i want to do is climb in there with you clothes n all and touch you everywhere
kiss you everywhere
bend you over and ram you into the wall and spank you like the cocktease you are until your ass is shiney and red
youd scream so loud the neighbors would blush and beg me to let you come but i wouldnt
id bring you right up the the edge
jerking your cock
rubbing your balls
slamming your prostate
but then baby id slow it down and slide my hands up your sides and down your legs until youre shaking and begging and then id speed up
tug your dick like its the last thing ill ever do
and then youd fall apart and id blow my load right in your ass
fill you up
and then you know what egbert i want you to get mad
i want you to finish your shower and then bust into my room and i want you to fuck ME
push me down on the bed really use them hammer arms babe
maybe even tie my hands up
i want you to drag your nails down my stomach and bite bruises into my neck
would you whisper dirty things to me god i hope you would
i hope youd tell me how hard youre going to screw me
make me moan your name as you fingerfuck me “wow dave youre such a slut i haven’t even touched your cock yet and youre already wet as a fourteen year old at a bieber concert”
then roll me sideways and sling my legs over your shoulder and
“you like that dave huh”
“you like my cock up your ass”
“tell me how much you like it”
and oh id tell you id sing like a motherfucking canary for you as you lay into me with the gusto of a penis hurricaine
you wont touch me and i cant because im tied up but youre dicking me so hard in just the right spot i think i could
that awkward moment when you come within fifteen seconds of whipping out your junk
signed unpleasantly sticky and alone
Okay, John feels it, now—he’s breathing faster, his clothes are too warm and too much, he’s so hard it almost hurts but he can’t make himself do anything about it because something thick stops his mind from ignoring what all of this means, something empty and a little sore. He wants Dave to come home right now so he can reach out and hold him but that’s part of the problem, isn’t it, and that’s an even bigger problem if he can’t touch Dave anymore or hug him or fall asleep on his leg because he does it so much and Dave is his best best best friend and he lo—
John scrolls to the next page.
last night i had the great and terrible honor of sharing a bed with john because some magnanimous deity of mischief took pity on me and cut the power for our dorm
so to avoid hypothermia and frostbite and shit he suggests
that we sleep together
i say john how dare you i am but a girl unmarried and pure and he laughs that perfect laugh and gets in my bed fucking cold feet and all
oh man i seriously cannot describe anything more perfect than john egbert in my bed i dont even think his o face could be better
sleepy john in my arms
fuckers turning me into such a sap
i figured i wouldnt sleep a wink but turns out spooning with your best friend slash secret wet dream fantasy is better than some motherfucking ambient
john wakes me up at some god awful time of the morning and says its snowing
so classes are probs cancelled but instead of immediately jumping of bed hollerin for a snowball fight john just lays there beside me
watching the snow fall out of the window
and im watching too but im also watching him
hes got real dark long eyelashes that you cant really see behind his specs
and hes just smiling
were all tangled together like a pair of shitty apple earbuds but he doesnt seem to mind maybe because the heats still not on but i am a sad sack of pathetic so i like to think maybe he just wanted to stay with me and it was just awesome
bright white sunny snow out the window making his skin look fucking phosphorescent
i could have hung out there all day half dozing
maybe eventually make some slow lazy love
kiss for an hour with our nasty morning breath but i dont care
him thumbing my nipples until theyre sore
then hed climb on top of me and id slide my hands down his back
down the back of his sweats until i could get at that great butt
but seriously renaissance artists would fall to their knees and burst into tears if they could catch a two thirds profile of john egberts plush rump especially when hes bending over to fill up the dish washer oh my god dat ass
id squeeze on it until he started sighing
then hed head south
kissing down my neck and chest and hed fuck up my nips even more because he knows that shit drives me crazy
id watch him suck on my hips and then id get some of that pretty black hair in my hand and show him where to lay some lovin
and he wouldnt the tricky pranksterfuck
hed mouth me through my briefs and stick his thumbs under the elastic but he wouldnt give me what i want and the whole time hed be smiling like a snarky bastard
so id pull him back up and kiss him and rock up against him maybe thats a little more convincing huh babe
and then later hed ride me
slow as a sunset
not hurrying like me miserable and solo in the shower but just so slow and leisurly because we want to be together
his hand on my chest for balance
id put my hand there too
maybe bring it up and kiss his palm
and each of his fingers
and his wrist
and id get his other hand and do the same and then id just hold his hands and push slow up against him
him looking down at me with those big blues
“i love you dave”
For the second time before 10 A.M. John goes through the motions of a minor heart-attack (a choking gulp of air, his fingers clawing at his chest, a distinct awareness of the fragility of life), only this time the threat is legitimate because Dave Strider is legitimately standing six feet away from him.
John catches his laptop just before it plummets to the floor, then very nearly takes its place on the path to destruction. “Dave!” He laughs, loud and nervous; even to his own ears he sounds a bit manic. “Uhhhhh. You’re back!”
Dave looks at him, expression so painfully blank that it screams I AM TRYING REALLY HARD NOT TO LOSE MY SHIT OVER HERE in a high falsetto through a megaphone.
“I came back. Wrong paper,” he says. John finally notices Dave’s hands, crammed deep in his pockets and balled into legible fists. The visible tendons of his wrist are flexing without rhythm.
I can still fix this, John thinks. ‘Hehehe, don’t worry Dave! I didn’t read your diary! You’re lucky I’m so damn virtuous.’ I can fix it.
For a moment, the corner of Dave’s mouth spasms, and John catches a glimpse of the desperate grimace beneath layers of rigid Texan nonchalance and ghost-freckles.
John doesn’t know what to say, but the silence and the pink ridges of his ears are apparently enough to rend the final illusory threads of whatever scapegoat he might have gone for.
“Fuck,” Dave swears. There is a vicious energy to the word, but Dave himself slumps against a wall, deflated. “John. I am so fucking sorry.”
John doesn’t say anything, incapable of speaking past the blooming ache in his throat. Dave’s facade is completely gone now, his face a tangible manifestation of deep upset and John isn’t sure but he thinks the way Dave’s mouth is set in a thin loathsome line might be worse than dying.
“You weren’t supposed to see all that,” Dave says. “Christ. I can’t believed I fucked up so completely.”
“Dave,” John murmurs, and it hurts to say it, it hurts to look at him hurting, but John does it. He stands up from the couch because something tells him to that isn’t his brain--his brain is too busy going davedavenodavedontidon’tknowwhatshouldidodavedavedave! The Something also motors his feet a few steps towards Dave, but the other boy goes stiff again.
“Shitfuck man I’m so sorry but please, I cannot handle the judgement right now,” Dave snaps. “I know you’re probably pissed but please just don't come over here and don’t give me that look—”
“What? Look?” John asks, hands flying up to his face, and that’s when he realizes the soft underparts of his eyes are damp. Suddenly frustrated, he tears off his glasses and smears his eyes with his palm. “Dave,” he starts shakily.
“I’ll. I can. I’ll go,” Dave interrupts, “like, forever if you want—”
“Dave! Shut up!” John snaps, and the way Dave flinches into himself like John hit him almost nurses another sob out of John’s throat and oh god he thinks I’m angry at him, but Dave stops. He’s quiet.
John looks at him: one hand an angry claw against his thigh, the other flat against the wall, sunglasses low on the bridge of his nose, his painfully drawn, beautifully blond eyebrows.
John is older and wiser than he was when he was 13, but he is still a guy who put false arms in a cake once. Sometimes, he just listens to those sudden, voiceless surges that tell him to give confections appendages, or throw an apple at a meteor, or walk slowly towards Dave and reach out and rub his thumb against his cheek and
It is such a scarce meeting, at first; the barest glancing of lips. They just stay that way for a moment, faintly touching, John trying to untangle these sudden knots with his hand steady on Dave's cheek and his lips tentative against his mouth. The sore thing in John’s throat goes warm and sinks as he feels Dave exhale slowly against him; it flares when Dave kisses back.
The wet edge of Dave’s lip catches against John’s during these fluttering moments, and they drag together slowly, solidly. Tension bleeds out of Dave’s jaw under John’s fingers as they move together, John on the thrill of instinct and Dave as if kissing something held together by the loosest fibers.
Dave doesn’t touch him, but the careful, chaste, open-close of their mouths holds John as firmly as any arm around his waist. He breathes in when Dave breathes out, and maybe that is why he feels white in the brain, or maybe it is because Dave lips are so soft and great and really just perfect they should have started kissing on like, day one. When John leans back, Dave’s whole body wavers after him for a moment, then he reclines against the wall and leans his cheek into John’s hand still gently cupping his face.
“I swear to god,” Dave whispers, the words damp against John’s wrist, “if this is a prank, Egbert.”
“Nope,” John says. Dave places his hand over John’s, then turns to kiss the center of his palm. There is an exchange between them then, like the gradual glow of a bulb when a circuit is closed.
"But," John says, because he really, really can’t help it, and adds, “you have to get a corn tattoo.”
This time, Dave punches him.
Then he kisses it.
Then he kisses John.
And then they fuck.
(Except not because Dave falls asleep giving John a hickey on the couch. John uses his butt as a desk and finishes his homework, and he is very happy to be in love with his best friend.)