Dave was holding a sandwich.
No, not just a sandwich.
The most beautiful sandwich John had ever laid eyes on.
He was also being nearly molested by a bunch of guys, but that was pretty normal, since Dave was gay.
It had been a pretty shitty day, since the KaI'tch'a'tl'p Talisman shattered in Dave's glove compartment- obviously the burger king wrappers it was wadded in weren't enough to protect it from the vast power of the Very Best of Kiss CD and accompanying car-aoke.
On the third chorus of 'god gave rock and roll to you' there was a bang, a spark, and a hot white light filling the car. They swerved and pulled over roughly, Dave bent over and panting for breath.
The diamond dust they'd retrieved with shaking hands was freezing cold and deep grey in colour.
"Well shit, those nuns aren't gonna like this."
David looked back at John blankly. His face was always blank when he was actually worried, his 'oh shit' face more of a gag than anything else.
"I can't believe we drove for four hours to dig this big hunk of crap up and then we exploded it with Kiss."
Dave stared in silence.
"Well, uh, we got till noon tomorrow. We could still go to Head's nu-metal barbeque tonight."
Dave's brow furrowed.
John was having a good night. Some lady in a bathing suit had given him a big fat joint and blessed him before running away into the night.
“Wait, lady! You dropped this!” Kneeling to pick up her cloth bag, he discovered it only contained a tupperware full of stolen hotdogs and tortilla wraps. Huh.
Dave was apparently 'gettug the nolsting idf a liftme', according to his text messages.
True enough, John supposed, given that his his arms were pulled back and knotted at the wrist with one of his hoodies and what looked like a few ties.
There were dudes grabbing at his chest and legs and he was basically just hollering this long stream of John WHERE THE FUCK ARE YOU I AM GOING TO KILL YOU IF YOU DON'T GET YOUR ASS OVER HERE RIGHT N- WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU GET OFF ME I SWEAR TO GOD I AM GOING TO LOSE MY SHIT I WILL RIP YOUR FUCKING THROATS OUT
And John wasn't sure how to respond, other than taking a bite of his hotdog burrito and a thoughtful slurp of his beer.
"John, FOR THE LOVE OF--"
There was a beautiful sandwich stashed in the front of his pants.
...Oh, that's where we came in. Sorry.
John downed his warming, flattening beer Popeye-style, battled off his friends with minimal fuss and optimum Bruce Lee karate noises.
They helped him to focus his chi, or something. Also he kind of wanted to hurl but didn't want to waste all of the alcohol that he'd consumed in the last three hours, or ruin Head's shag carpeting. It was easier to concentrate on making silly noises, and rescuing that cheesesteak.
Dave was lighter than usual, and the makeshift bondage made it a lot easier to haul him kicking and screaming over his shoulder. It wasn't the first time John'd had to rescue Wong in a firemans lift, and it sure as hell wasn't going to be the last.
Every doorway they passed through was kicked wide open, Hong Kong Phooey style, with exclamations.
Dave had given up on fighting for freedom and dignity long before they got outside.
"Dave, can you reach my car keys? With minimal ass-touching if you can resist it, bro."
John threw him into the backseat, mildly amused by Dave thrashing off his shitty bondage like it was insulting.
“Yeah, I guess I'm safe enough. Bring me a beer?”
And then John straddled his hips.
“No John, this is stupid.”
Fingers wandered into his jacket and through the tears in his t-shirt to find his skin and god, John's hands were cold and his fingers were so rough.
“N-not you as well John. Fuck off.”
Irritatedly, he snatchesd the beer out of his jacket pocket and held it to John's stupid bastard mouth.
He quirked and bit down into it with a deliciously slow roll of his hips, and Dave jerked the beer enough to pop the cap off the top.
“This is not okay dude, get away from me. Stop looking at me like that!”
John smirked, crooked and loose, so Dave knew he was drunk but he wasn't swaying so he wasn't drunk enough to not hear Dave shouting in fury so something must be going on.
Dave's shirt was riding up with the chill, searching fingers that were traversing his ribs and he wanted to bite at them more than anything else.
Hell, he wanted to bite at all of John, all of John's heavy, heated idiotic mass.
All of John's hyper, skinny muscle and lopsided features.
“Chill out, man, I hear ya.”
“What THE FUCK is even going on?!” But his heart wasn't in complaining, not now the music from the house was successfully leaking into the car.
John rolled his hips thusly and it caught and Dave hurled back a mouthful of beer angrily because everything was so perfect for maybe sixteen seconds and then he remembered what's actually happening and who its happening with and he was twitching none too subtly to match the bastard's movements.
“Cut your fucking nails, dude.”
“What, right now?”
“Fuck you, ever would be a start.”
“I need them to do stuff.”
Dave yelped a 'fuck' at the sharp, sudden rake of harsh claws across his ribs, but it was a lot less angry than he wanted it to sound.
The only response was more teeth added to that stupid ladykiller smile.
When their mouths were inevitably crushed together, it was worse than Dave expected. John tasted like ash and tequila and burnt barbecue meat and his tongue was rougher than a cats and his teeth were all over the damn place.
He kept digging his nails in and it wasn't what Dave was into at all but it was still making him arch and gasp like a fucking pussy and he's so embarrassed and he wished it was darker because he can still see John's crooked teeth and crooked smile so he must be able to see his own stupid face.
“What the hell is that on your breath, it's fucking awful.”
“What, the heineken? You too, dude.”
“No it's like... Bologna? It's nasty.”
“Oh snap, its the weenie taco. Sorry.”
“No seriously, some lady left me with the supplies for them and it seemed too good a euphemism to pass up, really, so I made a shitload and went around giving them to girls.”
“Okay so my point is that kissing you was horrible, so we should stop and never do that ever again.”
“David, you say that literally every time.”
“And I mean it every single time when I say never again.”
“Well, you're not going anywhere. Even if that sandwich was a hallucination.”
His 'no John fuck off' voice was a lot higher than he's happier with, mainly because there were long, spindly fingers at his fly buttons.
“Is that seriously what you want?”
He finished his beer in a snap and tried to broadcast his best 'are you fucking kidding' face but it was difficult with John looking straight up at him.
“Fuck. I don't know. You're a prick.”
“How about I ask you again in ten minutes?”
Then he got his dick pulled out so he decides to shut up.
John was irritatingly decent at it, like he was at most things. His fingers were calloused in all the wrong places but his grip was basically divine and Dave wondered for the hundredth time if it had anything to do with the guitar he could barely play.
His stupid yellow hair was mostly in the way of the view, thankfully, and it was too long and Dave wished John'd just get the whole damn wig cut off so he wouldn't compare it to Amy's auburn when it was tickling his legs.
Dave cussed and wriggled but he wasn't really trying to escape as much as he was protesting the unfairness of the world.
He reached to push the blond curtain of frizz out of John's face, barely noticing the loud crackling static shock that shot up his arm.
A little transfixed watching the head of his penis sliding out of John's mouth and the muted pop that followed, Dave completely missed that the other was trying to talk to him.
“So am I fucking off now?”
“I, uh, what?”
“So you've changed your mind?”
Dave grunted a little, hoping that it'd be the correct answer to get that warm wet back around him. There was a string of spittle, almost cartoonish, connecting his cock and John's bottom lip, and its very presence was maddening. With heavy lead hands he swiped it aside.
John smirked at the attention, but almost demurely. His face was flushed, and Dave hated himself for noticing.
“You're doing an awful lot of facetouching bro, you okay?”
“No seriously, you're sure you're not coming over all queer or nothing?”
The hand anchored in straw coloured hair fisted and pulled, irritated.
“Yeah, okay, whatever. You had some weird siren thing goin' on earlier, by the way.”
“Oh awesome, thanks for the heads up, why the fuck are you still molesting me if it was earlier?”
John shot a rare, serious glance.
“I thought it might dispense some rumours, to be honest, David.”
“'Cause there are a couple going round.”
Dave wasnt sure how to react other than to clench his teeth, hard.
“And I dont want anythin getting back to-”
“Shut up! Shut the hell up John, you don't say her name when this shit is going on! How hard is that to understand?!”
He looked almost dejected. His hair was escaping, slowly, slipping through Dave's fingers to tumble into the empty space between them.
Dave really wished he was wearing pants.
Hell, he wished he wasn't still pretty hard.
John's breath was still hot on his skin, even more so where he was still wet with saliva, and-
and Dave doesn't actually feel guilty.
It's really fucking bizarre, that it doesn't feel like cheating and it never has. But he's thinking really hard and maybe that weird awkward feeling, that extra tension, that fucking terrifying unease along the back of his neck that reared its head whenever he was with Amy... maybe that was what cheating felt like? And he'd felt it all along?
Thankfully he was incapable of getting any of that explained verbally
“John, don't make that face.”
“That face! The 'I need to borrow money' face. The sad molly face.”
“What face am I supposed to make exactly?”
“I'd rather you stopped gurning at me and making me talk about things I really don't want to discuss.”
“Dave, you are such a fucking girl.”
Another hair pull, a sharp one, accompanied by a narrowing of the eyes so he knew Dave was serious but he was pretty sure John couldn't really see well enough in the dim light of his pickup.
“Turn the reading light on, open me another beer, and stop fucking around.”
“You know exactly what I mean, John.”
“Yeah?” Sitting back and shrugging off his jacket and overshirt, he hit the tiny yellow switch to flood the space with dim watery light.
“Maybe I want to hear you say it anyhow.”
Dave ground his teeth and groaned through them in frustration.
“You were sucking me off about three minutes ago.”
“I'd rather you picked up where you left off, or I am going to have to smash that bottle open on your face?”
“Fuck you, John.”
“Ask real nice and I'll think about it,” he drawled with an irritating wink, handing over a beer.
“Get your big stupid mouth-”
“Yeah?” Those coarse fingers were wrapping tentatively around his base.
“-back on my dick-”