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Never Not Normal

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Your name is John Egbert, and you are not a homosexual. No, you’re pretty sure the best way to describe you is Davesexual. Ok, so you’ve been informed by a certain lavender-texted party that the term is demisexual, but it’s basically the same thing since you can’t imagine yourself being with anyone but Dave Strider. You’ve only been dating for about ten months, but since you’ve been friends almost your whole lives, you’re already really comfortable with each other.
Ok, so Dave may still have some weird paranoid defence mechanisms from living with Bro that didn’t fully abate in four years of living in dorms during undergrad, so “comfortable” may not be the right word. But it’s getting there.
Dave texted you awhile ago saying he’d be a bit late getting home. You’d asked him why, of course, thinking he might be hurt or sick or something else dire. At least his obnoxiously enigmatic response of “youll see,” though annoyingly vague, probably indicated he wasn’t lying half-dead on the pavement somewhere.
About half an hour later, you’re in the throes of channel surfing, ignoring a lab report (med school is lame), when you hear a key in the lock. You turn to look at your boyfriend from your position half-sunk in the couch. He’s carrying a bag from that Asian restaurant you love, and the smell of fish and fried rice wafts toward you. Before you can comment, Dave throws a movie at you: The Sorcerer’s Apprentice. It’s the only recent Cage flick you haven’t seen yet, and you’ve been dying to watch it—but Dave wouldn’t sit through this voluntarily.
“Jeez, Dave, my birthday isn’t for another month!”
“Yeah, I know.”
He definitely wants something. He only buys dinner without prompting by way of apology for something or when he wants to be able to guild you into something. And he hasn’t been any more of a dick than normal lately, so he must be about to lay something big on you. And with a Cage movie to boot—this must be serious business. You’re torn between amusement and nervousness, but mostly, you just want to know what the fuck is going on.

 

==> Be the guy who knows what the fuck is going on

Your name is Dave Strider, and you’re not sure you know what the fuck is going on either. Actually, you’re kind of flipping the fuck out right now, and that weird look your boyfriend is giving you is not helping. You try to keep your cool as you walk over and drop the bag of food on the coffee table between your crappy sofa and shitty TV. You then drop yourself onto said crappy sofa beside John. You’re definitely chill as fuck.
“So how was work? John asks, starting to unpack the food.
You grab the DVD and put in in the player. “Only slightly more excruciating than having my eyes skewered with those little cocktail swords and-“
“Ok, stop.” You laugh nervously as you resume your post in your personal dent in the couch. So, better than usual?”
“Yeah. Class ok?”
“Ugh.”
“That good.”
“Yeah, today we—Dave, is this sushi?”
“No, it’s your grandmother’s dentures, lightly toasted, then seasoned with a blend of-“
“Ugh, Dave, shut up.” You smile as he rolls his eyes. “That was a rhetorical question.”
“I don’t do rhetorical questions.”
“Yeah, I know. But really, why do you have sushi? It’s gross! Do you even know how much nasty microscopic stuff might be living on this?”
“Nope. Don’t care.” You snatch your meal from him and crack apart the shitty free chopsticks (because getting an actual pair would require getting up). “Don’t blame me that parasitology worsened your already questionable taste in food.”
“My taste is questionable, Mr. Let’s-Eat-Pizza-and-Apple-Juice-Every-Day? Pfft, yeah, right.”
You’re about to argue, saying that you also would add Asian takeout to that list, but maybe you shouldn’t ruin this delicately planned movie night by arguing. So you keep your mouth shut and hit play.

 

==> Be the really confused guy

You are definitely really confused. Dave bought you dinner (which was thoroughly cooked pad thai, you were pleased to discover), is watching a Cage flick with you and adding only minimal negative commentary, and refuses to take any of the bait to argue with or tease you. You haven’t even been able to coax more than a couple SBAHJ references out of him all evening. You’re not sure who this guys is or what he did with the real Dave Strider, but he’s really boring.
As the movie’s credits begin to roll, you pick up the final fortune cookie (you always get two entrees each—you’re growing boys, and you get double the complementary fortune cookies, too). You’re about to wrestle it out of its packaging when Dave shifts suddenly.
“John?” Calling you by your first name. That doesn’t bode well.
“Yes?” you reply, placing the unopened fortune cookie back down.
“I don’t really know how to say this in a way that’s not as awkward as two-“
“No similes, Dave.” The buildup to this point has left you no patience for Dave to dance around the issue like he usually does. “No figurative language of any kind, ok?” Is he breaking up with you? You thought everything was going really well! But there was that one thing… “Just tell me.”
“Ok, I… Shit, I don’t…” He buries his face in his hands, but you can see that his ears are red.
“Come on, Dave! Spit it out! It’s ok!”
“I haven’t even told you what it is,” he says, voice muffled by his hands. “You don’t know if it’s ok.”
“Well, try me.”
Dave looks up to stare straight ahead at the credits rolling by. “You remember how, after that New Year’s party, you were completely hammered, and when we got home, you pinned me to the bed and refused to let me move or talk or anything until I let you fuck me?”
Oh. That. That was something you wish you could forget. The next morning, when you realised what you’d done, you were terrified Dave was just going to pack up his stuff and leave. The first time you went that far together shouldn’t have been like that. “Yeah. I remember.”
“I actually…” (Oh shit, oh shit, he’s going to leave.) “liked it.”
You’re pretty sure you didn’t hear that right. “What?
He turns to look you in the eye through the shades he still refuses not to wear. “I liked it.

Chapter Text

You sit there, thoughts flowing like molasses from the shock of what just transpired. He didn't dump you. Not only that, but he completely voided the main reason you thought he might dump you. He... What?
"John?" Shocked out of your slow process of realisation, you turn to look at him. You know him too well by now not to see the nervousness and vulnerability written all over his face. He thinks you still can't read him like a book, and since it probably makes him more comfortable, you let him keep thinking that.

 

==> Be the guy being read like a book

Read you? Nope. But you admit that, in the current situation, it's not entirely impossible that Egbert might have gotten some vague hint of what's happening inside your head.
"Liked it...?" you hear him say. It's more an echo than a question, but you answer anyway.
"Aside from the fact that you were drunk off three beers. Seriously, you're half Irish, man, come on."
You look at Egbert, and his apparent mental state reminds you of a Windows 95 attempting to process having ten windows open at once: going nowhere fast. You shouldn't have told him. Why did you think it was a good idea to tell him how weird and fucked up you are? If you were to lose him over this... Oh God. You should tell him it doesn't matter--ask him to forget the last five minutes of your lives completely.
"We-"
"Did-"
You both pause. "You go first," you say quickly.
He takes a deep breath and looks you in the eye (he can always do that, even with your shades). "Did you want to... try it again?"
Your heart stops for a moment. "John..." is the only thing you can choke out before he takes your left hand in both his own, and your throat constricts again. But then he kisses your hand with a dramatic flourish like the cheesy dork he is, and you wheeze out a laugh. "You're ok with this?"
"Yeah, sure. I mean, how hard is it to be a little, uh... rougher?" You choke on air. "I could probably do it better when sober, too." He laughs nervously.
"Egbert, I can see I'm going to have to be in charge here."
"Isn't that kind of the exact opposite of the point, Dave?"
"Yeah, but you're about as capable of being 'rough' as a... brand new flat screen TV." Oh, God, that was terrible. "That shit better not get scratched again ever, anyway, though." Yeah, there's no way you're saving this one--even John is laughing at it. That shouldn't ever have-
Before you can react, John has shoved you down on the couch and is kneeling over you.
"Really, Dave?" he asks, grinning down at you, eyes narrowed in amusement and arousal. The look he's giving you is predatory and slightly wild and.. Oh God, he's barely even done anything, and you're already getting turned on. "Ok, ok. But I'm still going to have to walk you through this, you being an innocent suburban kid and all."
John rolls his eyes before standing up and sweeping you up in his arms, bridal-style.

 

==> Be the guy with all the mangrit

You do have a lot of mangrit--thanks for noticing! You try to work out--oh, right, the dork in your arms. He has his arms crossed over his chest--as if you didn't know it annoyed him. That's why you did it, after all. Really, who's he trying to kid--you've always worn the pants in this relationship.
You reach the bedroom and gently lay him down on the bed. You move to situate yourself next to him, but-
"Wait." He sits up and nods toward the dresser. "Get that kerchief."
You look at the kerchief that's been sitting up there for the last three months. Is that for... OH. You'd asked him about it, but he'd given you even less straight answers about it than usual--has he wanted to tell you all this time? You lift the scarf from the dresser and turn back to see Dave starting to unbutton his shirt.
Setting the kerchief on the nightstand beside the bed, you bat his hands away and take over the job yourself. You undo each button slowly, kissing the skin your work exposes, gradually pushing him down onto the bed as you do so. Finally, he's lying flat on the bed, and as you undo the last button, your lips reach his navel. Kneeling between his legs, you part your lips against his skin and begin to suck. Dave's breath hitches, and you fight the urge to smile. You want this one to last because you want both of you to be reminded that he's yours.
"Yours?" What does that even mean? You pull away from him and stand up quickly, trying not to let him see your uncertainty. Possessing another person isn't something you should want, right? But then, you look back at him. His breath is already a little ragged, and from the bump in his pants, it looks like he's starting to get hard. You quickly shove your uncertainty aside when you feel the pressure in your own pants, and you grab the kerchief off the night stand.
You kneel down next to Dave on the bed and press a quick, heavy kiss to his lips. Then, you take one of his wrists in each hand and pull them up to rest on the bed above his head. You're not quite sure how to do this, but you begin wrapping the kerchief around and between his wrists. Suddenly, he starts to pull his arms away.
"Wait, John. Let me get my shades."
With one hand, you pin his wrists down, and he looks up at you in surprise. "Nope." He's always so defensive about his shades--he's never let you take them off for him. But this time, you're going to take them off, you think as you knot the kerchief and tighten it with a careful tug. And you can't hold back the grin that comes when you realise there's literally nothing he can do about it.

Chapter Text

You grasp each side of Dave's shades with a thumb and forefinger before you gently kiss his forehead and lift his shades from his face. Try as you might, you will never get over how stunningly red Dave's eyes are--but admittedly, you're not trying very hard.

"Are you going to just stare deeply into my eyes all evening, or-"

His next words are swallowed by your mouth as you lean over and press your lips to his open ones. You gently suck his bottom lip into your mouth and run your tongue over it. His breath quickens, and you feel him squirm, his bound arms not allowing him his intended movement. Suddenly, you become aware of the growing tightness in your jeans and decide it's time to move on.

You tear your lips away from Dave's and brush your fingers down his bare chest, making him shiver. You smile to yourself. The first time you ever kissed him, you learned that Dave was more sensitive than you would have expected, and it seems that taking his arms out of play has only improved this.

You glance up at his face for a moment. His mouth is open a bit to accommodate his heavier breathing, his red eyes are half closed, and his cheeks are flushed. God, he's so gorgeous. You resist the urge to just keep looking at him and return to the task at hand. You straddle him and lower your lips to his neck, kiss lightly down to his chest. Your lips drift toward one of his nipples as you bring your left hand up to trace your fingers over his abdomen. You kiss a in ring around his nipple before finally putting your lips on it and lightly brushing it with your tongue.

Dave can't manage to hold back a small moan, and you instinctively pull back to gauge his reaction. When you do, he closes his eyes and-- Did Dave just whimper? You grin as you realize what this arrangement could do for your prankster's gambit.

You're going to enjoy this, and with any luck, so will Dave. Eventually.

==> Be the guy who's eventually going to enjoy this

Well, you're sure as hell not super keen on it right now--and yet... You think you underestimated how much power you were giving your boyfriend when you asked him to do this. You can't believe you're losing your cool so fast just from him kissing your chest. You open your eyes to glance down at him, and, yes, there's that slightly sadistic grin you expected he'd have when he realized the potential of having you in a position like this.

But you can't say that seeing that slightly evil smile of his now and then doesn't turn you on. Everyone else sees him as a sweet young guy, incapable of hurting even a fly. But the kid is an asshole, and you both know it. You would never admit it, but you love it when he plays jokes on you and teases you about stupid things. Just seeing that grin of his quickens your breathing, though you try to moderate it enough so that he doesn't notice.

Suddenly, his lips are moving down your chest again as you feel him begin unzipping your pants. Your breath hitches--it shouldn't; it's not like you've never done this before. But you've never just let him do this.

In a few moments and with some maneuvering, he's managed to relieve you of your pants and boxers, and you're lying on the bed, feeling more naked than you ever have in your life by comparison to your still fully clothed boyfriend beside you. But then he brushes his fingertips down your chest in an erratic trail, and you shudder.

"Just come the fuck on, Egbert. No need to just dance around the issue here. My dick is right--ahhh...!"

Your tirade is cut off by John's wrapping his fingers around the base of your erection. You resist the urge to thrust into his hand. You're not giving him that much that easily. He strokes slowly up and down your length a few times, and you bite back a moan. You close your eyes and let yourself get lost in the feeling. How are you already getting close? You moan as he gradually starts pumping faster.

But then--nothing. He takes his hand away, and you nearly scream at him. "John, what the fuck?" You knew this was coming but fuck him. Your erection is throbbing with inattention, and you try to move to punch him in the arm. But the kerchief keeps you from it, and you groan, half in frustration, half in arousal. John leans over you, his grin still in place, though you can tell he's not unaffected, either.

"Shhh, I'm getting there." He trails a hand down your stomach as he kisses everywhere but your mouth.

You moan quietly and try to breathe evenly as he teases you relentlessly. When your hands are free, you're going to punch that ass of an Egbert. Then, despite the arousal clouding your mind, you get an idea. Shakily, you bring your leg up and press your knee against his crotch. He gasps and nearly collapses on top of you. You look at him, eyebrows raised. "You might want to get there a bit faster, asshole."

==> Be the guy who's lost control of the situation

Yeah, that was unexpected, but there's no chance you're letting Dave get control here. You're in charge. You regain your composure and give Dave a swift but intense kiss on the lips before crawling back down his body.

He told you to take charge tonight, and he rescinded that. And you've decided that's not part of the program. And you're going to make sure he knows that, too.