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A Tight Situation

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One of Dave's favorite things was waking up to the dulcet tones of John's screams.

Wait, did he say favorite? He meant least favorite. But, no matter how many times Dave swore to himself that he was going to change that particular personalized and oh-so-lovely ringtone, he never seemed to remember by the time he was done with whatever conversation John had deemed more important than Dave's sleep. Or, whatever Dave happened to be doing when John called. It was usually sleep.

"I don't know how you deal with that," Amy piped up to his left, her voice muffled and cracking in the thick blanket she'd stolen from him almost entirely during the night. "It scared me a little. I always think for a second he's in trouble."

Dave snorted as he flipped open his phone, an ugly sound that made him wince and regret making it the moment he heard it. "John doesn't sound like that when he's in trouble. If he's angry and yelling, that's what's scary."

Amy grunted.

Dave hit the green call button. "What is it?"

"Dave? I need help with something."

Dave blinked, stuck his finger in his ear as if that would actually help clean it out, and said, "Why is your voice muffled?"

From John's end came a thump, some even more muffled cursing, and a lot of grunting. Just as Dave was about to hang up and cuddle up to the cute redhead who was probably rubbing her runny nose on his blankets judging by the shuffling noises going on next to him, when finally John's voice came back on.

"Look, I have a bit of a situation here. I tried getting myself out but nothing helped and now my arms are sore. And not for the usual fun reasons."

"Thanks for that visual, John," Dave sighed, rubbing his eyes.

"You can experience my hot bod in person and live that visual yourself if you come help me out with this minor problem I'm having. C'mon, David, please?"

"Yeah, fine," Dave said. "You've been a bit too unspecific for it to be anything good, but-"

"But we both know you're coming anyway," John finished his sentence for him. "Probably in more ways than one, am I-"

Dave hung up before he could finish the sentence.

"I have to go help John with something," he said. He stood up and stretched, groaning as his shirt rode up and his back popped.

"Bring me back something cherry and syrupy that tastes like cough suppressant," Amy said.

 


 

Dave walked through John's front door twelve minutes later and was immediately greeted by the sight of John's bare, in his words, "fucking over-enthusiastic mega-pecs."

The second thing he noticed was that John's face was obscured and his arms were raised, both due to some rather tight-looking flesh-colored cloth.

"Dave!" John said, his voice slightly less muffled in person. "Thank god you're here! Unless you're not David, in which case you'd better be on your way out of here real soon, buddy. I know Kung-Fu and I'm not afraid to get fucking medieval on your ass. I don't even need my arms to have you crying like a little bit-"

"It's me, John."

"Nice try, future sobbing victim! That's a terrible Dave impression. Come over here so I can kick your face in."

Dave rolled his eyes. "So, what happened?" He paused. "And how did you manage to call me with your arms trapped?"

John shifted from one foot to the other a few times, then said, "You know how I was getting that fancy new binder?"

"Yeah. You've been complaining for weeks about how your old one can no longer properly contain your amazing girth and muscular physique. Did you learn those words from Amy's Star Trek fan fiction?"

"Maybe."

"Right. And?"

John sighed. "And I measured myself right, but the measurements I had were right between medium and large. Turns out the medium can't handle my muscular physique right either."

"Your binder's too small and you're stuck," Dave summarized for him.

"Yeah, okay, if you want to be a killjoy about it."

Dave almost snorted again, then reminded himself not to do that. "Give me a second."

He walked up to John, awkwardly trying to avoid rubbing up against his chest, and grabbed the cloth and started yanking.

"Ow! Careful, that's my skin the fucker's stuck to," John yelped. "Careful."

"Fine, fine, just hold still," Dave said, pulling as slowly and firmly as he could.

Three minutes of struggling and complaining and awkward accidental chest touches later, John was rubbing his reddened skin while Dave searched for a clean baggy sweatshirt for John to toss on.

"You know, it probably wouldn't be too difficult for us to save up for some top surgery for you so you don't have these problems," Dave told him, finally grabbing the faded dark green P.E. sweatshirt John still had from high school. He turned back to John and tossed it.

John shrugged. "Yeah, maybe. I dunno, I kind of like playing with them in front of the mirror sometimes."

"Don't want to know, John," Dave said flatly. "Put your shirt on."

John grinned and sent an exaggerated wink his way, then pulled the sweatshirt over his head. "Yeah you do."

"No, I really don't."

"Sometimes Amy joins me."

"Damn it, John-"

"You know you're welcome to join us."

Dave stared at him blankly for a moment. John stared back, a big smile on his face. Finally, Dave shook his head, pulled his keys out of his pocket, and started chucking John's boots at him.

"Come on, we can deal with your binder later. Amy wants cough syrup, and if I have to get sick from her, so do you." Then, struck by a moment of inspiration, Dave pulled out his phone and opened up his settings before he forgot again.