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Tonight Alone

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You’re jerked out of sleep by a loud noise to your right. Your head snaps up, confused and sleepy, and you simply blink into space for a few minutes before anything can click. You hadn’t even realized you fell asleep. It was only late-afternoon, and you must have drifted off again. You had been fighting with your own internal clock for years now, ever since you started talking to your internet friends. You always got sleepy around this time, more out of boredom than necessity, because for them it was only the wee hours of the morning, and no one was ever online. You have tried to break yourself of falling asleep in the middle of the afternoon, as you fancy it’s poor form for an adventurer to be sawing logs when there certainly had to be ruins to inspect, or ruffians in need of a good brawling.

But sometimes it gets kind of dull living on your own on a deserted island. Napping just fills up some of the empty spaces.

After you realize what had happened and where you are – on your bed, an open Spidergirl comic splayed out in front of you – the second thing that clicks is that the noise that had woken you up was your phone ringing. You look over beside you, but by this time the call has already been disconnected. A screen flashes before you, announcing that you have one missed call. You drowsily press a button to show who it is. Your eyebrows immediately furrow at the name that pops up.

Dirk Strider.

Oh. Well this was… quite unexpected.

Besides the fact that you are almost 100% sure that it is not even the buttcrack of dawn for him yet, Dirk almost never called. He wasn’t really a phone kind of person. Jane was. Roxy was, especially the tipsier she got. But Dirk wasn’t.

You contemplate calling him back, but the notion is cut off before it can come to fruition as the phone rings again.

It’s him. He’s calling back.

This time, you pick up immediately, your adventure senses tingling at the urgency of his calls. You’re suddenly fully awake and at the ready for some serious motherfucking fisticuffs if need be, despite the fact that you are thousands miles away from him and in reality could only do approximately jack shit.

Regardless, you answer quickly, worry in your voice. “Dirk?”

There’s no answer at first. Your heart does this weird, nervous flutter thing and more beats of silence hit you than there ought to be, and you try again. “Dirk, are you there?”

“Yeah.”

You breathe a small sigh of relief at his voice, but you tense up again slightly as you suddenly realize how heavily he’s breathing into the phone. “Are you alright, chap?”

“Yeah.”

You furrow your brow again, and don’t say anything as you look around your room for a clock, a window, anything to inform you what time it may be. Did you sleep later than you thought? Is it really the time you think it is over there or-

“What are you doing?” His voice reminds you that you haven’t spoken, and you look blankly ahead of you, worry playing across your face.

“I… I say, chum, perhaps I’ve gotten my facts all kerbobbled,” you start, laughing nervously. “Forgive my standoffishness, I must admit I had accidentally drifted off and— well, what time is it over there?”

There’s a long pause before Dirk comes up with a reply. “Late.”

“Oh.” You purse your lips anxiously. “How late?”

“I’d reckon pretty damn late, by late’s standards.”

You narrow your eyes. Something about this… is off. Very, very off. “Um. I’ll ask you not to take this the wrong way, it’s not as if I don’t appreciate a call from a good chum now and again, but, uh….”

“Yeah?”

“Would you be kind enough to explain the sudden urgency to speak to me, in what for you appears to be the middle of the Christforsaken night?”

You hear him scoff slightly. “What? A bro can’t hit up another bro when he’s up for a little intellectual stimulation? It shouldn’t matter to you what hour of the night I choose to socialize in, either. And you ain’t got business fallin’ asleep now anyway, Jake. Ya’ll are witnessing younger timezones than I. And by ‘ya’ll’ I guess I mean the council of you, yourself and thou. Adventuring and chronic narcolepsy aren’t all that famous for mixing in an agreeable manner. What would your dear grandmother say?”

“No no no, that’s not what I meant, confound it!” You backpedal, but your eyes are still narrowed because something is still off and you can’t quite…. “I just…. Blast it, Dirk, has…. I mean, has your accent always been this thick?”

When he was silent, you know you're onto something then. You remember something of a Southern drawl always being there, specifically when you think back to the period of time when Roxy would just gush and gush about it the few days after she first heard his voice, all but screeching about how precious and endearing it was. You secretly agreed with her, but you weren’t sure if saying anything about it was a very bro-like thing to do.

But still, you can swear you remember it being much more… subtle. You haven’t actually talked to him in a while, but you are almost certain he sounds different now.

Suddenly, something falls into place, but you almost don’t bring it up for how ridiculous it sounds in your head. “Dirk, you’re not- I mean. Dirk are you… are you drunk?”

Dirk is silent again. Then he kind of snorts. “It seems you think I’m drunk.”

Your eyes narrow again. “Dirk.”

“What, Rox gets all the fun of indulging in a little underage inebriation? Just because I’m a fucking child prodigy doesn’t mean I can’t partake in some good ol’ poor, adolescent decision-making. I’m sure Doogie Howser fell off the wagon once or twice in his day too.”

“Dirk.”

“I didn’t call for a lecture.”

You sigh. “Then why did you call?”

“How are you?”

The question catches you off guard for a moment. “Um. Fine, I suppose.”

Dirk is quiet once again, and you’re getting more concerned by every passing second. “Bro,” you start again, your voice growing strained. “Dirk…. What this all abou-”

“What are you wearing?”

You freeze. You try to say something, but it catches in your throat, and you have to swallow before you try again. “Dirk, are you-”

“Yes,” he interrupts, not needing to hear you finish.

Your heart feels like it drops into your stomach. You sit up then on the middle of the bed, crossing your legs and hunching over yourself awkwardly. When you speak again, you’re clutching the phone with both hands and whispering, as if this is a secret that you’re trying to keep, despite the lack of people around to hear it. “Dirk, I…. I thought we talked about this.”

Dirk groans into the receiver, and you can hear him shifting around. “Yeah, yeah, I like you, you don’t, we can be bros, the best of palhonchos, the greatest band of buds since the goddamn Blues Brothers, yada yada yada.”

That familiar pang of guilt goes through you, and you squeeze the phone. “Dirk, please-”

“Well talkin’ gets real fuckin’ boring when you’re drunk as an old fashioned prohibition-era wino, Engilsh.” Dirk interrupts again. You hear him shift again.

You find yourself at a loss for words, and you’re both quiet for a while after that. You begin to wonder what he’s doing after a while, and you try to find your voice again. “Dirk?”

Your eyes go wide as he groans in reply. And it’s not like a normal groan, it’s not a groan of frustration or regret or anger or any other emotion, it’s soft and drawn-out and you know just what’s happening.

You almost panic and hang up right then and there, but more than anything else, guilt drives you to clutch the phone tightly and stutter, “I-I really do think I ought to hang up right now, Dirk. You don’t have your head on straight, you-you’re going to regret this and I think a good bro would-”

“No.” His voice is quiet as a breath, but you stop short as if you’ve been hit. Because you can just hear the need and desperation and it feels like your heart is breaking in two. A lump is forming in your throat, and you let him continue. “Please don’t hang up. You don’t have to do anything. Just don’t hang up now.”

You chew on your lip anxiously as a blush creeps up your face, and you’re not sure what you’re doing. You know you love Dirk, and you have to admit you’ve occasionally had thoughts about exactly how deep that feeling runs, and in what way. But you don’t want to lead him on when you aren't completely sure of yourself yet, and you’re pretty sure chatting him up while he gets his rocks off is exactly the kind of thing that constitutes leading someone on. You weigh your options, realizing that no matter what you do, you’re going to feel like a shitty friend and a horrible person after it’s over. But….

You swallow. Your face feels hot and your heart is heavy, and you have to take a breath before you can even manage to say anything.

“Wh… what do you want me to do?” You creak out.

Dirk doesn’t say anything at first, as if he’s a little surprised, and then he just breathes softly. “Just… say something.”

You pick at the sheets in front of you nervously, trying to pretend that this isn’t as big of a deal as it is, but you’re not even sure what to do and you feel embarrassed. “What… what do you want me to say?”

“Ask me something.”

You bite your lip, thinking. “Where are you?”

“On my bed.” You can hear him moan softly again, and your breath hitches. You have no idea what to say, you feel like you’re just sounding stupid, but it seems to be getting a rise out of Dirk regardless, which is… overwhelming.

“What are you thinking about?”

Dirk breaths out. “You.”

Your heart jumps to your throat again. You’re wiggling your toes anxiously as you try to think of something sexy to say – good fucking lord you’re trying to think of something sexy to say to your best bro in the world, you’ve gone completely bonkers – and you try to ignore the feeling starting to pool at the pit of your stomach, because you know if you do acknowledge it you’re only going to scare the shit out of yourself. “What am I doing?”

“Kn-” His voice cracks and he cuts himself off. “Kneeling—you’re over me. You’re pinning me down. And you’re—”

You card a hand through your hair and squeeze your eyes shut as you listen to him struggle to form words. “Tell me.”

“Jake.”

“Tell me.”

“C-can you touch me?”

You bite the inside of your cheek. “How?”

“Anywhere,” the word comes out as a whine. “Oh god. Fuck. Your hands would feel so good.” Dirk’s breath hitches.

You suddenly laugh nervously in spite of yourself. “You’ve got quite the powerful imagination on you, chap.”

Dirk laughs too, but it sounds shaky and vulnerable and just kind of makes you feel like shit. “I—Jesus, Jake. I want you all over me. Will you—”

“I’ll do anything you want tonight.”

“Would you kiss me?”

You’re prepared to lie. But you’re surprised how little it feels like one when you choke out, “Y-yes.”

“Yes,” he parrots. You hear him shift around again, and suddenly he spits, and you can just guess where and for what purpose. You shake a little.

Another awkward silence falls upon you and you lose your train of thought after that, so you just listen to him breathe. It’s soft and subtle, and every once in a while a choked moan rolls out of him. He sounds small and vulnerable, and you feel as if the guilt is going to swallow you whole. It’s only made worse by the fact that you can feel a familiar heat inside you that is making your shorts uncomfortable and tight, and you know it’s probably because you’re just overwhelmed and have never done anything like this, but it just makes everything so much worse.

“Jake?”

When he speaks again, he’s breathless, and he can barely get the word out. You squeeze the phone again and close your eyes. “I’m here.”

“Jake… I—hnnh. I want you here.”

“Shh,” you hush.

“Ohh, fuck.”

The tone in his voice sends a shiver down your spine. “Are you close?”

“Mm hmm,” he hums. “Oh god, Jake.”

“Dirk.”

“Oh god, ohh god. I—”

“Dirk….”

“Jake. Ohh, god, Jake….”

“Tell me what you want.”

“I want—” he cuts himself off with something that sounds pathetically like a sob. “I want you to fuck me.”

You can’t even stop the shudder of arousal that runs through you. “Oh, Jesus.”

“Jake, Jake, tell me you’d fuck me. Please just—”

“Yeah,” you speak before you even know what you’re saying, and you know this is a bad idea but you’re too invested now and you’re caught up in the moment. “Yeah, I would. Imagine me there with you. I’d be…. I would hold you down and fuck you.”

“Ohhhh, fuckin’ A,” he groans loudly, and he’s being louder now than ever before. “Oh god, oh god, oh god, oh god, Jake—”

“I’m right here,” you mutter, heart racing and hands shaking. “Good boy. I’m right here. I’m here….”

You quiet down then, and you just listen to him. You listen to him lose himself, you listen to him chanting your name as he takes himself over the edge, as you take him over the edge, and reality slowly begins to hit you as his cries die down and soon the only thing you can hear is the blood pounding in your ears.

Dirk’s just breathing now, or trying to anyway, gasping into the receiver, and you’re just frozen.

“Jake,” he huffs.

You don’t answer.

“I love you, Jake.”

You know. You also know that you still can’t bring yourself to say the same thing in any confidence. You know that in a few minutes, you’re going to have to jack off to the Spidergirl comic still lying in front of you on your bed, trying your very hardest not to think about your best friend as you do so. You know that you are probably the shittiest bro on the face of the earth.

“Good night, Dirk.”

You hang up.