Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/600187.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      F/M
  Fandom:
      MS_Paint_Adventures, Homestuck
  Relationship:
      Rose_Lalonde/Dave_Strider, Past_Rose_Lalonde/Kanaya_Maryam
  Character:
      Rose_Lalonde, Dave_Strider, Kanaya_Maryam, Karkat_Vantas
  Additional Tags:
      Hurt/Comfort, Sickfic, Temperature_Play, mild_breathplay, handjob,
      Bisexual_Character, Queer_Themes
  Collections:
      The_2012_Homestuck_Sweep's_Eve_Gift_Exchange!
  Stats:
      Published: 2012-12-20 Words: 16651
****** Solid Matter ******
by FallacyFallacy
Summary
     Rose gets sick and Dave takes care of her. And if it's all a little
     fucked up, well, at least they're fucked up together.
Notes
     S-sorry, the length got a little away from me...I hope that's okay!
     At any rate, happy Sweep's Eve! :D
     This fic was also written as a fill to this_prompt at the Homestuck
     kink meme: Dave/Rose, One of the two catches a cold, one mostly in
     the nose with sniffles and sneezing all the goddamn time. The other
     cares for them, turned on by the whole thing. Eventually, this gets
     noticed, and they have sneezy awkward sex. (In the end, they're both
     sick, of course.)
Rose blinks, and then blinks again. She breathes in slowly, attempting to
irritate as little as possible the sensitive bumps that seem to form the
majority of the surface area of her throat. She steadies herself unnecessarily,
leaning in slightly closer to the book in front of her.
Researching isn't easy. Although she's sure the others see it that way, it
isn't at all a matter of just opening one up and tuning her attention in its
direction and then, after a satisfactory number of hours, resurfacing. It is no
passive feat, no lying back and thinking of nothing. There are connections to
be made, and loopholes to be spied, and leaps of logic to be made, all
quantified and compartmentalised and sorted into pretty, helpful little columns
on her piece of parchment. (Which, while more romantic, is actually kind of
fucking hard to work with, sometimes.) More than that, the texts are opaque
even by Rose's standards. It's such a terrible mix of old-fashioned language
and complicated computational vocabulary (Karkat tried to help her out with it
once, a memory she, as always, firmly pushes out of her mind as quickly as
possible) and even, on rare if memorable occasions, Alternian, all combined
into an unpleasant slurry like someone put a hamburger in a blender.
Kanaya is away, as usual for this time of the day (with an imaginative
definition of the word 'day', of course), a fact of which Rose is both
disappointed and relieved. They are friends, still, but there's just a slight
hum of awkwardness in their interaction now that Rose would normally take in
her stride as just one more of the many complex and fascinating facets of human
interaction but which now would just seem to vibrate irritatingly against her
already sensitive head. Besides, she has spent noticeably less time helping
Rose with her research since they separated, a fact which leads Rose to wonder
whether she hadn't had multiple motives for helping her in the first place. She
doesn't blame her – though if true, her patience is even more mind-boggling
than Rose was at first prepared to consider. All things considered, it is
perfectly understandable, and Rose holds no bitterness.
She closes her eyes briefly, forcing herself to take in the words. That was the
first thing she learned to nip in the bud – the running off of her thoughts
like gaily gambolling puppies chasing after the first colorful butterfly they
set their eyes on – and it's more than a little irritating to have to correct
for it again.
“You look terrible.”
Rose sighs, tightening her fingers on the table. “I do apologise for the lack
of appropriate response – I assume you have spent enough time in my presence
that it will not be too much of an ask to suggest that you think up your own
suitably poetic way of phrasing 'so does your face' – but I am actually kind of
busy right now.”
Dave pauses. Rose refuses to turn around, but she can see him in her mind's
eye, leaning against the doorframe with a nonchalance that, from years of
deliberate posing, has at some point become almost natural.
“No seriously. You look half asleep. Why not just go to bed already?”
Rose purses her lips. “Unfortunately, that is not possible.” She turns, shaking
her head slightly, the feel of hair against her cheek just one more thing
making her fingers tighten on her sleeve. “We're getting closer. The message is
coming more frequently, now – talk to the new players. Since that isn't
something we're capable of yet, I can only presume this means we will be able
to do so in the near future. I'd rather we be as informed as possible before
then.”
“Why? Timeframe's still pretty much the same, isn't it? As long as we know what
we're doing by the time we get to the new earth, what difference does it make
how impressed they all are by our amazing ability to read a bunch of books and
write pages on pages of flowery apocalypse rubbish? Or non-apocalypse. What's
the opposite of an apocalypse?”
“It may amaze you to hear, but it's actually a little bit more difficult than
that.” She grits her teeth – there it goes again. Pain. Wonderful – she can fly
around and face against beings of godlike status and dissect the rules of
reality itself, and yet a little headache is still enough to turn a simple
conversation with her brother into an ordeal.
Dave watches her closely, the movement of his forehead revealing plainly
whatever his sunglasses could conceal. “Yeah and that's exactly why you're not
gonna be of any help to anyone right now. Come on, an extra hour of sleep isn't
gonna kill anyone deader than they already are.”
Rose turns around, fully prepared to ignore his warnings, but when five seconds
passes and her eyes still aren't able to focus on the words in the book in
front of her she gives up.
“Fine. I bow to your expertise, doctor Strider.”
“Uh huh.”
She instantly riles in defence, and then feels foolishly stubborn. Fuck, she
really needs to go to bed. She sniffs, carefully walking past him, trying to
move as efficiently as possible.
“You look sick.”
Rose glances beside her. “Once again, you prove yourself worthy of that phD.
Clearly, those five years were not spent in vain.”
“Yeah, yeah, I sat the basic classes. Got the main gist – sick people bad,
healthy people good. Glad to see you recognise my qualifications there.”
“I'm going to bed. What more do you want?”
“Nothing.” Dave shrugs, and Rose isn't sure whether to be more annoyed that he
seems to be interpreting her sickness-induced snippishness in the intent it was
made in. “Just not really all that sure how it works. I mean, doesn't it
normally require other people to like, spread it to you? Or something?”
“I don't know – maybe it's a magical virus that got stuck to the pages of a
book for some reason and stayed there for millenia until I picked it up just
then.”
“Huh,” Dave says, and Rose isn't sure how to feel that in retrospect, that's
probably actually true.
“Welp, here we are. Sorry babe, I'll have to leave off on the goodnight kiss
tonight – can't miss my final exams tomorrow or my parents will be so ashamed.”
“Are you still going on about that?”
“Sick people bad, healthy people good. I think I've got it.”
Rose shakes her head, pushing through the door to her room and gingerly lying
down on the bed. And yet despite herself, as she tries to ignore the pain
enough to fall asleep, when she remembers the conversation, she can't help but
smile a little.
*
By the time Rose wakes enough for consciousness to grace her with its presence,
she has already been rolling around in her bed trying to find a comfortable
position for an indefinite length of time. She swallows, whole body shaking in
wince at the unexpected pain and terrible taste. The sensation lasts just long
enough for her headache to flicker away briefly, only to return in full force,
a pounding just above her eyes that makes Rose clench her fists hard enough
that her nails dig into her palm. She breathes out heavily, through her mouth –
and now she remembers the long hours (were they hours? They felt like hours)
she had spent the night before trying to figure out a way to breathe that
allowed her to sleep.
Her body relaxes, even from its already prone state, but then she sneezes, and
then again, her nose gross and terrible. She awkwardly maneuvers into a sitting
position, holding a hand over her face, feeling the sting of cold and ache
pushing through her legs and making her shiver.
Well, fuck.
Rose purses her lips, considering her options. She probably could go back to
work now... but the wave of disagreement that flows through her when she thinks
that rejects that idea quickly enough. She is fucking tired and fucking sick
and she didn't want to go and spend hours reading ridiculous, pointless books
she doesn't even need to just so she can show off to some people she doesn't
even really know anyway. What she does want to do is a different matter – 'stop
feeling terrible' is winning out by a longshot, but when she tries to come up
with a more practical plan all she can manage is 'go back to sleep and also my
head stops working so I can actually sleep' which isn't much better.
Her brain isn't working properly. It'd be terrifying if she had the energy to
care about such things now.
Her arm, on which she is leaning, is shaking rather worryingly. Rose takes it
to her waist and hunches over, wincing when the movement causes her head to
start pounding again. She feels tired not just from lack of sleep but from
simple lack of energy and even the thought of getting out of bed feels like too
much work.
She sneezes again, and ugh. Rose drops her head, holding her hand to her nose
tighter. Well, fuck.
Slowly, so slowly, she uses her hand to pull back the last of the blanket she
had apparently pulled over her when the comforter became too hot but sleeping
without anything on top of her felt too weird. Even just pushing this aside
feels like an effort, a slightly twinge of pain shooting down her forearm.
She's still wearing her Seer outfit. It's hot and stifling and the tights cling
uncomfortably to her legs. But despite how hot she feels, they are totally
clean and sweat-free, which Rose reluctantly admits is probably a good thing.
She gradually swings her feet to the side of the bed, hesitating before
touching the ground – as she expected, when she places them down the floor is
cold, too cold, against her overheated and sensitive skin.
For a minute or so she sits there, breathing loudly and unpleasantly through
her mouth. She knows she has to stand up eventually but her motivation to do it
at this exact moment is drastically low. She blinks her eyes, wincing at the
light and the way her nose has scrunched up and made them watery, trying to see
in front of her.
She must admit that this is all a little bit new to her. What colds she had in
the past had generally been of the sort that involved having a runny nose for a
few days and a cough for a few more and nothing else. Not that she should
expect a magical virus, if that indeed is what it is, to obey normal rules
anyway, which is a worrying thought. But even aside from this Rose has been, on
the whole, remarkably disease-free. Her mother, being both desperate to prove
her love (for reasons Rose cannot fucking be bothered to obsess over right now)
and possessing of admirable trust in science, had of course vaccinated her with
anything that might at all ever reach her, while at the same time enrolling
Rose only in the most selective of schools, apart from choosing to live in a
house isolated in the woods. She apparently had chicken pox when she was young,
and of course there is always the occasional menstrual period that has her
feeling murderous not for reasons of hormones but because her uterus has
apparently decided to cannibalise her insides, but this kind of illness – the
sort that is undignified and painful and unpleasant without even managing to be
romantically life-threatening, the kind that responds to nothing more than
simply waiting it out – is mostly new to her.
It fucking sucks.
Finally, she gathers up her energy, gingerly pushing herself into a standing
position. Her limbs feel tired and achey, her outfit bulky and too warm. She
shuffles towards the door, peeking out.
She really, really doesn't want to see anyone. She looks terrible and feels
terrible and would really just rather not deal with the whole rigmarole of pity
right now. With Karkat and Terezi, at least, she can trust that they won't
understand what's going on enough for the meeting to be too unpleasant, but
there's pretty much no way Kanaya wouldn't attempt something faintly
patronisingly motherly or Dave wouldn't bully her into letting him try to take
care of her.
The coast seems clear so Rose strides forwards as quickly as she feels able,
making her way to her working room. Luckily, with paper on hand, tissues were a
very simple alchemisation process and there should be plenty on hand.
“You look like shit.”
Rose grits her teeth. Karkat stands at the other end of the corridor,
apparently passing through and having spied her when he turned the corner.
“That is a very helpful, not to mention original, observation. I applaud the
clearly great amount of thought that went into the phrasing of your statement.”
Karkat squints at her, undeterred as usual. “What the fuck are you doing? Are
you sick or something? Or-” He narrows his eyes in grave suspicion. “Is this
another one of your bulge-munchingly terrible human puberty things?”
“Sure,” Rose mutters, starting to walk again.
“Oh my god, seriously? That's seriously not done yet? What even the fuck, you
humans don't even live that long! Jesus fucking christ, ugh.” Karkat glares at
her as though she is the sole cause of all problems he has ever been personally
faced with which is, admittedly, the way he always glares. “So fucking
disgusting it makes me want to rip my own eyes and nose out just so I never
have to experience any of it ever again. I can't believe past me actually
considered dating one of you! Once again my own past idiocy spews results,
'cause if I'd been forced to go throw that from a closer vantage point I'd
probably have ultimately ended up vomiting up on all of you.”
“Thank you for that, Karkat. You are certainly doing a most wonderful job
proving trolls the less unpleasant of the two species.”
Karkat doesn't respond immediately. Rose pauses at the door, already regretting
her hesitation.
“Jeez, just fucking go to bed already, won't you? That's what humans do when
they get sick, right?”
“I assure you that that is my plan. Right after I retrieve something.”
Karkat nods in odd satisfaction. “Good.” Then he pauses again, looking awkward,
before throwing his hands into the air. “Whatever. I don't even know why we
even bothered to have this conversation.”
“Conversation? You accosted me, complaining that humans were disgusting and
then demanded I go to bed. Any comments on my part could only be considered the
linguistic form of self-defence.”
“What the fuck ever.” Finally Karkat leaves, feet stomping down the corridor
out of sight.
Rose shakes her head, opening the door. There, on the table – a little box,
surrounded by a little knitted covering she made during one of those early few
months when lack of activity drove her to nearly continuous knitting. She takes
it, then pauses at one of the bookshelves. Something light, clearly, she
thinks, self-consciously retrieving a couple that she may or may not have
either pilfered from Karkat or alchemised herself.
She spots one – right in the back, covered in dust – and hesitates. There's
been something bothering her lately, in the back of her mind. Something about
puberty and trolls and humans and herself. Something that brushes up against a
thing that she Does Not Acknowledge, but one that is slowly morphing more and
more into a beast of its own the longer she ignores it, hideous and pulsing.
Pursing her lips, she takes the book, returning and swiftly as possible to her
room.
There, she drops her cargo, finally seeing to her nose. It feels sensitive
already – god knows what it'll be soon.
But for now, it's not too difficult to empty her mind of any nagging thoughts.
Because she really actually is fucking tired, and even with her headache and
breathing being what they are, it only takes a couple of moments for her to
fall asleep.
*
When Rose wakes up again, her first coherent thought is 'I should probably get
something to eat and drink soon.'
Her second thought is 'fuck that.'
Thankfully, the headache has subsided slightly. It's still extremely
irritating, but at least any attempt to distract herself from it will not feel
like a foregone conclusion any longer. She reaches for one of her books at
random, flicking to some page.
It's in Alternian – right, of course. It's not a huge obstruction. It was only
a month into their voyage when Rose had requested Kanaya teach her to read
formal Alternian. She expected the process to be long and time-consuming and
involving all kinds of interesting exotic linguistics, but to her
disappointment formal Alternian turned out to be a simple cypher for casual
Alternian. Or, thanks to some forward-thinking troll who realised it would be a
good idea if they could communicate with some of the inhabitants of the planet
they were creating, English. Or effectively so, bar necessary differences based
on culture and technology. However, although Rose is pretty familiar with the
symbols right now, she doesn't find herself reading them too often and it all
requires just a bit more concentration to read than English.
Oh, well.
Reading Alternian books is weird. There's a whole cultural context here that
Rose isn't privy to – tropes and genres and sayings and weird little ways of
understanding the world that Rose felt superior to for all of five seconds
before she remembered some of the stupid things humans back on Earth used to
believe even in the 21st century. Sometimes it translates – trolls, it seem,
still have horoscopes and like to anthromorphize concepts and celebrate roughly
Western-esque holidays – and sometimes, such as when Rose got halfway through a
book about troll-shaped sea monsters before she realized they were considered
romantic icons on par with werewolves on Earth, it doesn't, and the overall
feel is of eavesdropping on a half-finished conversation between strangers and
trying to figure out what they're talking about as you go along.
But one of the weirdest things about it is the gender and sexuality politics.
Every now and then she comes across a troll who goes evil when her female
matesprit is killed or sees a male troll leave an unhealthy and dangerous
relationship with a male kismesis for a better one with a female or something
along those lines and instinctively her hackles raise, her brain already
cycling through the arguments. And then the moment passes and Rose is left
staring down at the book feeling kind of stupid.
Sure, among all the horrible things trolls did discriminate about, it's still
nice to see that a society like that can actually exist – the troll world did,
as far as she can tell, just plain not even consider gender or sexuality to be
things at all. For while trolls with breasts did tend to have longer hair and
wear skirts and have slightly different interests, and some trolls do indeed
have preferences for one gender over the other, those things seemed to have had
no further meaning to trolls. They just were.
There's more to it, though, for reasons that move beyond the obvious fact that,
while trolls may not have judged one another based on gender or orientation,
they certainly weren't lacking for other reasons to do so. Reading the stories
makes Rose feel strangely unsatisfied.
She remembers the passion she felt when she was thirteen, reading blog posts
and writing furious, strident comments in agreement and argument, writing
messages into her fanfics that might have been over the top but were at least
right, and spending long boring drives righteously winning conversations
between bigoted idiots. Her anger was totally misplaced, of course, and Rose
winces in retrospect of all the many things she got badly wrong. But it gave
her a purpose – made her feel part of something bigger than herself, something
she could join just by doing what she did best: thinking and writing.
She's done more than that, now. But now – tearing away from a universe they
destroyed and a session she ruined – she can't say so certainly that she's done
right.
And yet despite the fact that, compared to the fate of multiple universes, a
couple of harmful cultural assumptions of one society in one era on one planet
can't by any stretch of the imagination be considered important, Rose can't
quite forget about it.
It wasn't just any culture, or any era, or any planet. It was hers, and it was
because of it that she became who she is today.
And it's gone. While her friends aren't by any means perfect, they are
certainly far more enlightened than the people she was fighting against, and
correcting their minor slips of the tongue hardly seems like the same righteous
crusade against ignorance. More than that, the people she'd defending are gone.
She doesn't know about the new players, and it isn't entirely impossible that
John or Jade were late bloomers, but as far as statistics go, there is a very
real possibility that Rose is the last queer human being in existence.
And against all odds, even here Rose isn't one hundred percent certain.
Rose sighs, putting a hand over her eyes. She really, really hates this.
Annoyed at her irritation being misplaced, she instead turned it on herself,
leaving nothing achieved except a sulky mood. Right, when you're done moaning
over the fact that there isn't any gendered oppression going on anymore you can
go do something actually helpful. Oh, wait, you can't – you're stuck doing
nothing but reading for three years on this fucking ship and you can't even do
that right now because guess what – you're sick!
Rose groans, closing the book and replacing it on the bedside table, turning
off the light and trying to sleep again.
She really, really hates this.
*
“Yo.”
Rose glances up – Dave stands in the doorway, head cocked just a little.
“You doing ok?”
Rose sighs, taking a scrap of paper from her nightstand to use as a bookmark
and holding the book on her lap. “Fine. I'll probably have this all over with
by tomorrow.”
Dave stares. Rose purses her lips.
“Today hasn't been the most pleasant day I've experienced, but it doesn't seem
to be serious. Just a cold.”
“Yeah, but colds can be pretty terrible.”
He wanders over, taking stock of her room. Rose feels her cheeks going oddly
hot. They've spent more time together than Rose ever would have thought
possible in the last two and a half years – some of which was, out of necessity
of living together, spent learning unfortunate details about each other's daily
routines and hygiene practices – but here, sick, and in this weird little mood
Rose has felt fringing her mind for a month or two now, Rose irrationally just
wants him to leave and not have to see her like this.
“So you walk towards the infection. That's very sensible. I see your point.”
Dave ignores her. He glances towards the books on her stand and smirks. Rose
straightens a little, indignantly.
“Yes?”
“Nothin'.” He shakes his head a little.
“You're right – they're stupid. And unrealistic, and self-indulgent, and badly-
written, more often than not. I fail to see how that makes them any more
different than your terrible movies.”
“Chill, Rose. Jesus, I'm not gonna get all superior over someone reading
something escapist while they're stuck in bed.” A slight smile curls at the
edge of Dave's mouth. “I was just remembering the first time I saw you reading
one. Really surprised me, for some reason.”
“Really?” Rose deflates a little, studying Dave. “Why?”
He shrugs. “No idea. It's basically fanfiction, right?” He chuckles suddenly.
“Heh, remember when Karkat found out and tried to have like a legit discussion
with you about it?”
Rose smirks a little, settling comfortably against her pillow. “Oh, yes.”
“When you said that thing about not getting why they stayed 'only moirails'
even though they got along so well I thought his head was going to pop off.”
Rose remembers. If she hadn't stopped him, she's quite certain he would have
ranted about how humans had no fucking respect for the pale quadrant and how
moirallegiance was not the same as friendship, what the fuck, was she a
shitting idiot or something, for hours. “Mmhmm.”
“I don't know how you do it.” He shakes his head, looking actually kind of
impressed and Rose allows herself to feel a little good about that. “Whenever I
try to do shit like that, our things always just end up...weird.”
“...weird?” Rose feels her mind jolt, lagging in the face of her headache and
distracted by the occasional sense of wooziness but sharp as ever deep down.
“Weird...how?”
Dave rolls his eyes. “Not like that. Just... IDK. Weird.”
“No, no, tell me more. I'm interested.”
“Right, like I have to give you even more material for your notes.”
“That is true – you are successful enough at dispensing intriguing statements
even without deliberately setting out to.”
Dave gives a short grunt of laughter and then looks around again.
“Mind if I stick with you, then?”
Rose raises an eyebrow. “Why?”
Dave sighs. “Come on, miss psychoanalyst. I'm sure you can come up with
something.”
Rose narrows her eyes. Dave is giving her a doubtful look, and the fact that
she isn't actually sure what response he's expecting is quite unnerving.
“Um, because you're my sister, maybe?” He says after a moment, as though he can
tell she won't figure it out, and that just makes her feel even worse.
“Oh. Well, obviously.”
“Yeah.”
“You'll get sick.”
Dave shrugs. “Maybe not. Magic sickness and all. And even if I do – well,
better together than alone, right?”
Rose feels herself draw back, uncertain. Is this what Dave would expect her to
do for him? Worse, does he think she wouldn't do that for him? This seems
excessively nice to her, but perhaps she has made a miscalculation. Or is this
just the state of their relationship in Dave's eyes?
“Thanks,” she says, but she sort of wishes he would just go away and stop
making her feel like a terrible friend.
He watches her for a few moments and she wonders, with perhaps an overabundance
of worry, whether he can tell what she was thinking.
“It's your birthday in three days, too.”
“...ah.” Rose blinks, glancing away. “I see.”
Dave rubs the back of his neck. “Forgot, huh?”
“It seems so.”
“Welp, it wouldn't be all that great if you were sick for your birthday. I
figure being around to take the edge off is the least I can do.”
“Even if it means you'll be sick for your birthday?”
“Yep.”
Rose stares at him. She likes to think she knows Dave very well by now – better
than anyone else, probably, though that's definitely a weird thought – but
every now and then he does something that doesn't quite fit into her mental
model. There's a mini alarm ringing in the back of her mind, one she set up
somehow years ago and never quite manages to turn off, that is telling her that
there's something more to this situation than he's letting on. And then she
remembers that he didn't even think she'd guess that he might want to be taking
care of her because she's his sister and she feels pretty awful for even
thinking it.
“...are you sure your moirail will be okay with this? Taking care of someone
who's sick – it all sounds awfully pale. I had no idea you felt that way about
me.”
Dave rolls his eyes. “There's a bit more to it than that. Specifically, the
whole 'calming violent impulses' thing. Which I don't think I could ever manage
for you, so. Plus, jealousy also counts as an impulse, so conveniently enough
I'm perfectly placed to be stemming it.”
“Are you sure? I don't want to find myself in chains tomorrow morning on the
charge of pale infidelity.”
“Nah, the punishment for that is way higher. Huge tabboo we're talkin' about,
here.” He snorts. “Relax. Me and Terezi wouldn't even be in this thing if I
weren't making concessions to her heritage. Believe it or not, she actually is
willing to go the other way, too.”
Rose nods.
“So is that a yes?”
Rose sighs. “Was there ever really an option for me to say no?”
Dave smiles, an expression oddly honest for him. “Nope.”
*
Dave returns with stacks of DVDs bundled up in his arms.
“An impressive array.”
“I'd have a look at them before making any judgments.” He drops them with a
clatter on Rose's bedside table, some of them falling or knocking books to the
floor. Rose gives him a perfunctory disapproving look but then turns her gaze
to the movies.
They're...well, very very weird. She doesn't recognise any of them at all, and
while some look realistic enough, most of them come across like the result of a
person dared to make an entire movie about two or three ridiculous subjects.
“'The T-shirts of Forbidden Passion,'” Rose reads, voice frank with
disbelieving wonder as she looked over the anthromorphised clothing pieces
locked in a fierce embrace on the cover.
“Yeah. Thought I might be able to get movies by swiping discs from Karkat and
combining them with other stuff, but the alchemiter is pretty literal.”
“I can see,” Rose says, voice filled with joy for which she has not words as
she picks up a case entitled Will You Still Love Me When My Pot Plant Dies?
“I did kinda manage a couple of real ones, but they're still pretty random,” he
says with barely hidden amusement, showing her the case for what looked like a
low-budget sci-fi movie revolving around evil rabbits.
“This is beautiful,” Rose breathes. “Why did you never tell me of this before?”
“Eh, was just kinda disappointed?” Dave crosses his arms, looking at the movies
and shrugging. “Yeah, they're pretty amazing, but the fad wears off after a
while. And I really was trying to like...I don't know. Preserve earth culture
or some shit? I dunno, it was pretty stupid – all the movies I was trying to
replicate were terrible anyway.”
Rose spies something, her good mood fading. She can only see the corner – it
must have been at the bottom of the pile – but she fishes it out.
Dave is quiet.
“'Con Air'?”
Dave shrugs, his stoicism from a minute before hardening further, then
softening. He sighs, nodding, and sits on the edge of her bed.
“Yeah. Took me a while, that one. It was pretty stubborn.”
Rose's thumb traces slowly over the plastic. “You really miss him.”
“Yeah. Jade, too.” From this angle Rose can see just behind his shades – he's
looking at her out of the corner of his eye. “And you don't?”
Rose looks away, her hands twisting subconsciously on her lap. “I try not to
think about it.”
“I couldn't do that.”
Dave scratches at his neck and an uncomfortable silence descends. They don't
really discuss serious things very often. They're both well aware they neither
enjoys it and with no outside forces to push them into it, why would they? It's
been growing even less common lately now that Dave has Terezi – apparently,
talking things over is the province of the moirail. Even after Rose and Kanaya
broke up Rose never really sat down and talked with him about it.
Sometimes she's grateful, and sometimes she isn't so sure.
“I guess I just worry,” Dave says quietly, and when Rose looks up she's
relieved to see that Dave has turned his eye away from her. “I mean. Three
years is a pretty damn long time.”
Rose remains silent.
“Just...what if they change, y'know? We were only thirteen when we separated.
People can change a lot around that time. What if we meet up again and they're
like different people?”
“I don't think that will happen,” Rose says, but without certainty.
“Have I changed?” He turns to her again, mouth a firm line.
Dave has changed. She's paid close attention to it, well aware of the effect by
which people barely notice small alterations because each difference isn't
really significantly different to what it was before, until over time the
changes build up so much the resulting image is totally different. She, in
fact, made a conscious effort to avoid that, lonely and scared of the long dark
years ahead when they first started their journey. And so she saved up every
little image she could, every little habit, every little tendency, saving them
like photographs and collecting them in a shoebox at the back of her mind,
carefully taking them out and ordering them chronologically in quiet moments.
He's changed physically, of course, most of all. His voice broke and deepened,
became low and rumbly, a strangely grown-up sound that Rose still hasn't quite
gotten used to. He grew taller, became more broad-shouldered, eventually
started to shave. It was a strange sight when compared with the trolls'
maturity – Dave's hair and oily skin and forming muscles attractively human
when compared to the cold roughness and smoothness of troll anatomy, and yet
the culturally-induced gender dichotomy somehow made his changes seem a bigger
contrast to Rose's growing hips and breasts. She dwelt upon it, dissecting her
thoughts and pronouncing a lack of human company causing her to fixate on the
only other of her kind nearby, especially while he was going through such a
very human process. And certainly, with all the firing of hormones that comes
with puberty, it was only natural that her senses would be confused. It's kind
of gross, all things considered, but in a different way to when Kanaya had been
secreting that strange slime for a month or two, or when outer layers of her
horns began to peel off. It's gross in a familiar way – too familiar – and Rose
can only seem to vacillate wildly between whether it's pleasant or not.
But he's changed in other ways as well. A bit more open, a bit less concerned
with looking cool – well, it's not like there's anyone around to impress. A bit
more willing to do what it takes to help other people out, and also a bit more
liable to not realise when his help and sacrifice isn't really needed. A bit
less likely to go off onto rambling tangents, though pushing him into it is
still easy enough. A bit more thoughtful. A bit more self-aware.
The shades stay, still. Rose has probably written pages and pages of mental
analysis on why, as he no longer bothers nearly so much to conceal his
expression. Her current opinion is that it sits as a tribute, a reminder.
Though to what, she does not know – John? His bro? His past life? Maybe all
three.
The Dave before her is subtly different to the Dave she knew two and a half
years ago, who is subtly different to the Dave from before the game. The
differences are not huge, but then again, the differences between the Daves
never was.
Sometimes, Rose wonders whether she has changed. Now, caught up in overthinking
and romance novels and sexuality and Dave, she thinks not.
“Yes.”
“...in a good way?”
Rose stares at him. She has no response to that.
But Dave persists, waiting for an answer.
In the end, there's only one thing Rose can think to say. “You've grown up.”
Dave nods slowly, seeming to understand. “You've changed, too,” he adds.
“Oh.” There was a time a few months ago when she would have agreed – when she
was happy and fun and was trying new things and everything was going well. But
then she realised that all of that was just her trying to get away from her
responsibilities, and it all fell apart, and now it seems like a painfully
obvious passing phase in retrospect. “How?”
Dave thinks, then shrugs. “Dunno. Can't put it into words.”
Rose frowns, and for the first time since they started this train of thought,
Dave smiles. “Sorry. Guess I don't really pay much attention to stuff like
that.”
“You were just wondering whether John and Jade had changed.”
“Yeah,” Dave says thoughtfully. “I guess since I'm used to having you near me I
don't think about you like that?”
Rose shifts, sneezing rather forcefully into a tissue. Dave ignores her.
“Should I be flattered or insulted?” Rose asks eventually.
“...well.” Dave moves his shoulders oddly. “I guess you could think that I
appreciate you being around me?”
“Except that we're together because of circumstance more than anything else.”
“Do you really think that?” Dave asks, sounding oddly hurt.
“I meant, the fact that the two of us are here and John and Jade are
elsewhere.”
Dave hums non-committally at that, his expression unchanging.
“Well, I think that was enough feelingsy shit for now,” he says, slapping his
palms on his knees all of a sudden and taking a disc. “'Red Towel Cruise' sound
right to you?”
“Sure,” Rose agrees, watching as Dave takes the television and DVD player out
of his sylladex and sets it up.
She feels weirdly girly right now, waiting while her brother sets up the
technology for her, as much as she immediately corrects herself for correlating
weakness with femininity. Dave is hardly the most masculine of men normally,
but there are tropes, Rose reasons. There are always tropes, all over the damn
place.
The movie is entertaining enough, though after twenty minutes or so her
headache returns at full force and her skin feels hot and uncomfortable and the
embarrassment of the idea isn't enough to keep her from falling asleep.
*
When Rose next reaches consciousness, the illness is in full swing. She twists
over, curling automatically into a fetal position that only disturbs her
stomach further, and then curving back again, rubbing her foot back and forth
over her other ankle in an attempt to distract herself from the pain.
God, everything feels so fucking hot. Sweat trickles uncomfortably down her
neck, her breathing difficult.
“Need anything?”
Rose shakes her head, fingers gripping and then relaxing on the sheets. Beyond
the litany of 'please stop please stop please stop' comes one coherent though:
He's still here?
From there, though, her memories get fuzzy, and while it no doubt took a long
time for her to fall asleep, at least she doesn't have to remember it in
afterwards.
*
When Rose next wakes up, it takes a long, long time for her senses to return.
Groggily, she rubs her eyes, breathing awkwardly through her mouth. Everything
is dark and weirdly outside of time – she has no idea how long she's slept or
what time it is, but she is also faintly aware that it doesn't really matter
when she eventually gets up, either.
Flashes of images flow through her – she must have visited a bunch of different
dream bubbles in her sleep, though the memories are fuzzy now. She can remember
speaking with an illusionary Jade about a movie they were looking forward to,
and meeting up with Meenah again briefly, and spending about ten minutes in a
dream bubble with Dave before she realised she was still asleep. That was early
on, she thinks, and the dream ended as soon as she realised that it was fake,
so she wonders whether Dave really was there with her after all.
Eventually, she opens her eyes, pushing herself enough to see her stand. The
DVDs and books have been cleared (from what Rose can see, they'd just been
dumped on the floor, which makes her frown a little but, well, it's not like
her room is all that clean anyway) and instead, by the lamp, sits a big glass
of water and a plate of plain crackers.
Rose swallows, momentarily forgetting about the lump in her throat and wincing.
Dave really is going all-out at this, isn't he?
The crackers are plain enough to go down easily and the water definitely helps
to soothe her throat. Even if she still feels gross and achey and hot, her
headache has dulled enough to make her almost fall over in appreciation of what
it feels like to be able to think normally again, and when she picks up an old
favourite book of hers and settles down to read it it's almost comfortable
enough that she can forget that she's sick for a while.
Eventually, of course, Dave reappears.
“Yo. How're you doing?”
“Better. What's the time?”
“Nine. When did you wake up?”
“A little while ago.” Rose raises the book and Dave nods.
“Welp, hope you don't mind me bothering you again today,” Dave says casually,
flopping down into a comfy chair by her bookcase on the other side of the room
and taking out a gameboy.
Rose looks at him oddly. It's true that she does appreciate just being able to
read right now, and his presence there is a little comforting, but surely he
has better things to do?
But things are actually starting to go kind of well now, so Rose merely nods,
gives a mental shrug, and returns to her story.
The pleasant silence is disturbed once more an hour later when Rose hears a
knock at the door.
“Rose?” Kanaya asks tentatively, head poking through.
Rose raises a hand a little awkwardly. “Hello.”
Kanaya's brow furrows and she walks in, looking at Rose with concern. “Are you
all right? What's wrong?”
“Just a cold. Sorry, you were probably confused by why I didn't show up last
night, weren't you?”
“It's fine. Your health is more important.” She pauses, then continues. “Um,
what's a cold...?”
“A minor human illness. They're pretty common, though this is...a bit more of
an extreme case. Don't worry – it isn't dangerous and it'll be over in a day or
two.”
“Do you need any help?”
Rose shakes her head. “Dave has already volunteered his services as nurse.”
Kanaya turns; Dave gives a little wave of his hand as well. “Yeah, just call me
nurse fuckin' Strider over here. Uniform coming up.”
Kanaya purses her lips and Dave rolls his eyes. “And yes, Terezi does know I'm
here. Geez.”
“Well then.” Kanaya nods, then looks at Rose again. The room goes silent and
Kanaya lets her eyes linger for a few moments before dragging them away. “I
will do my best to continue on the research while you recuperate.”
“Do whatever you feel is necessary,” Rose says.
Kanaya nods. “Get better soon.” With that, she leaves.
The room falls silent again, then Dave turns to Rose.
“Uh...that was kinda awkward, wasn't it? That was totally awkward.”
Rose frowns at him, turning away so she is looking down at her book again.
Being around Kanaya and Dave at the same time has always felt a little bit odd,
as though she finds herself alternating between two different sides of herself,
but since they broke up it's felt especially uncomfortable. They were never
friends, exactly, but they had made an effort – for her? - that she rendered
moot. It's a weird thing to focus on among everything else, but it's there.
And this situation...something about it feels wrong. She finds herself playing
over in her head that week where Kanaya had been ill and Rose had taken care of
her, the tired smiles worth the discomfort of the slime and other weird troll
symptoms. The circumstances are completely different now, of course, but the
comparison is still a little jarring.
Rose glances up; Dave is still watching her. She sighs.
“What is it?”
Dave hesitates. “You never did tell me why you two broke up.”
“No, I didn't,” Rose says, but not without trailing off in a perhaps promising
way.
He was, she has to admit, pretty much wonderful throughout the whole thing. He
didn't give advice or ask questions or demand things from her – mostly, he left
her alone. It was a surprisingly thoughtful decision. Solitude gave her a
chance to collect her thoughts and let out her emotions in whatever way she
thought would help without having to worry about appearances, allowed her the
freedom to do what was right for her, and let her continue her research enough
to feel that at least she wasn't totally worthless. Even when he was around he
was kind of perfect, patient and sensitive but unpatronising.
Just once, she cried in front of him. He held her hand and said nothing.
She owes him. She knows he does. But even if information is all he's asking for
in return, that's not an easy thing she can give him.
She tries to think of a way to phrase it that won't come across as terribly
pathetic. But then she starts sneezing all over again and, well, sometimes
being closed is the easier option.
“We just weren't right for each other. It was better for both of us that we
split.”
“And it seems you not telling me is something that will continue.” Rose goes to
say something snarky, but after that outburst, Dave just looks kind of
disappointed more than anything else, which sends an emotion right to her gut.
“Look, if you don't wanna tell, that's fine. But – there's gotta be something,
right? It's not like either of you exactly have many other prospects right
now...”
Rose remains quiet.
“Well, whatever,” Dave mutters, returning to his game.
Rose returns to her book.
*
Later, after Terezi crashed through the door long enough to demand that Dave
come with her right now and Rose was left alone again, she halts her reading,
staring down at the words.
It's a short scene finishing a subplot involving the heroine's two best
friends. In it the two men finally consummate their matespritship after,
comedically, having tried out every other possible quadrant first. She goes to
skip it as usual, but pauses, remembering Dave's earlier comment about
prospects.
She puts the novel aside, searching for the dusty book she picked up earlier.
Here – the one with the two shirtless men clutching each other amongst a field
of weird purple sunflowers. One of the first she pilfered from Karkat, it told
the story of a male highblood who does everything he can to earn the enmity of
a yellowblood male, only to ultimately realised that the fellow blueblood male
who had been there to pester him and challenge him all along was his true
kismesis. She had enjoyed it gleefully for the first few months, paying
particular attention to certain later scenes, but after she finally was able to
admit that she and Kanaya were going out she abandoned it completely.
A big part of her just wants to throw the book away and never look at it again.
She went through this already. She's sick of it. It caused her enough trouble
the first time around. But doing it half-assedly is undoubtedly the reason
she's even still thinking about it, so with a groan she closes her eyes and
leans back.
It wasn't until Rose was twelve or so that she even wondered about her
sexuality. Newly-introduced to the wonders of fanfiction, she had of course
thrown herself full-pelt into the LGBT rights camp, reading slash and femslash
alike. Sure, when she looked back, there were hints here and there, but
sexuality is complicated, and for a while Rose self-satisfiedly deemed herself
'mostly straight' to the internet at large and 'straight' to everyone else.
Enter Kanaya. Kanaya, who was smart and kind and genuinely great to get along
with. Kanaya, who was, without a doubt, interested in girls. Kanaya, who was
actually sort of really pretty. No, not just pretty – hot.
Rose wavered. She analysed, she thought. She'd gotten a little bit attached to
her pet theory, proving as it did her opinion that sexuality is more than just
one or the other without having to force herself to admit anything difficult
about herself. There were other things, too – their friendship, and the
already-clear fragility of pleasant life among these people, and just plain
fear of rejection. And when the time came, something had to give.
At this point, Rose probably should have re-examined herself properly. She had
just spent several months alleging that she was doing so, after all. But she
was, to be frank, sick of it all, and with Kanaya at her side the term
'lesbian' started sounding kind of nice. Defiant. Inspiring.
Once again, Rose threw herself into it. This time, at least, there was a ring
of truth. She unearthed the earlier signs like buried treasures, laughing at
her many 'attempts' to 'seem' attracted to men. No, this – this word, which in
one simple concept helped her feel connected to both past Earth and Alternian
society more than any other – was right.
Which is where the story should have ended. She is basically sixteen right now
– older than her alternate mother will be when they reach the new session, if
her calculations are correct. She's spent years thinking about this. To be
wrong now would...
Well, would make her feel pretty stupid.
There's nothing wrong with bisexuality. It's perfectly nice! It just doesn't
feel like her. Not yet.
And... If she really is the last one...
It would make her a little sad to think humanity ended with everyone paired off
into nice little heterosexual couplings.
Rose opens the book to a random page. It's a scene of seething sexual tension
between the main character and the exotic, dangerous yellowblood, covered in
oil from the magnificent machine he was tasked by a superior to produce. His
psychic powers are of a common kind in troll romance – the ability to send and
receive emotions to a phenomenal extent, even to higbloods. The two trolls
stare at one another, inches away from tearing each others' clothes off.
It's pretty hot.
Rose closes the book, replacing it on the table, and takes up another book. A
safer one.
She grits her teeth at that thought, but it isn't inaccurate, and she keeps
reading anyway.
*
“What'd I miss?”
“Nothing,” Rose says honestly, looking up from her book and, when Dave turns to
close the door, surreptitiously flicks forward a few pages.
“Sorry, I was gone for a while, so I got some food.” He places a bowl on the
table – some kind of soup.
“Chicken. Well, cluckbeast or whatever the fuck trolls call 'em. It's from one
of those coffee maker things but I tried a bit and it's not bad.”
Rose gives him a look. He shrugs. “Chicken soup? Really? My, I had no idea you
were so traditional.”
“Yeah, so if you don't mind I'm just gonna sit over here knitting a blanket for
you.”
“I assure you that such an endeavour would take a nigh epic determination to
have finished.”
“It'll be a small blanket. A hand blanket.”
Rose sneezes again and takes another tissue. At first the growing pile in the
bin Dave helpfully left for her had been of no concern compared to the fact
that, oh, she could barely breathe, but now looking at it with fresh eyes is
making her wince.
In fact, her head is feeling much better now. She isn't sure whether it's just
that the cold has reached its peak and is settling down now or whether staying
awake and getting her brain working again was able to stimulate it, but apart
from the heat, difficulty breathing, sneezing, and all-around achiness she
doesn't feel too bad.
She notices something subconsciously and turns to Dave again. He blinks at her,
then retreats to his chair, taking his gameboy out again.
Is it just her, or is he a little...twitchy at the moment?
She narrows her eyes.
“So, what was Terezi's important thing she had to show you?”
“She found this big weird machine thing in a back room. I think she was
wandering around doing her whole detective roleplay shit and looking for clues?
Anyway, if you turned it on it kept churning out these little multicoloured
balls, so we closed off the room and made a ballpit.”
“Really?”
“Hey, some things you never grow out of. Anyway, we tried jumping in, but they
kinda mostly broke.”
Rose paused. “Broke?”
“Yeah, like – the skin was flexible, but really soft? And it turned out there
was all these weird sludgy stuff inside. I actually only just got back from
getting it all off me.”
“Like – slime?”
“Nah, not quite – sticky. Also it maybe had little things in it? I dunno, they
kinda ran over your skin when you weren't looking.”
“That sounds frankly traumatising.”
“Yeah, I'm pretty traumatised,” Dave says, but he does twitch a little.
“...did Terezi eat one?”
“She licked one at first, but I somehow managed to convince her that eating the
stuff inside was a bit much. I think even she was a bit wary of it by then,
though.”
Rose takes a closer look. His hair is slightly darker than usual, falling over
his forehead into his eyes. Indeed, he does look as though he just showered –
freshly dry and clean. If not for her nose, Rose fancies that he would smell of
soap.
She sneezes again, and he twitches. Yes, there's definitely something going on
here. She takes another tissue and, when done, glares at him.
“What is it?”
“What is what?”
“You're acting weird.”
Dave hesitates a fraction of a second – enough to fool most, but not someone
who knows him as well as she does. “Uh, maybe it's because I was just covered
in unidentified sludge so nasty even Terezi wouldn't touch it?”
“No, that's not it,” Rose murmurs, deliberately allowing her expression to
school into full-on psychoanalysis mode in an attempt to frighten him into
giving something away.
It works; he glances away, stiffening slightly under her gaze. There's
something he doesn't want her to know.
Rose sits up properly, chewing the inside of her mouth properly. “It was when I
sneezed. Are you worried about getting sick, too?”
“Rose, jesus.” Dave covers his forehead with his hand. “What the fuck even is
this? You're imagining things. You're sick.”
“I don't think so.”
They glare at each other.
“Even if,” Dave begins reluctantly, “I really am trying to hide something from
you or what the fuck ever you think I'm doing, did you ever consider just,
like, letting me keep doing that? You're so goddamn concerned about your own
privacy – what about mine?”
“But this involves me, somehow.”
Dave purses his lips. “How would that change anything?”
Rose thinks. She has a response, but it's a low blow. It involves our
relationship. Isn't that important to you? It is to me, and therefore it does
involve me.
But she hesitates too long and abandons it.
He's helping her out – willingly. And yet there's something about her illness
that disturbs him. Why?
No – he isn't just willing. He's outright insisted every step of the way and
has gone out of his way to help her and be with her as much as possible.
Why...
Her eyes widen in genuine shock. She looks him over, head to toe – well, she's
not doing anything now, so she can't tell, but she's sure of it now, suddenly.
It seems so obvious.
He isn't disturbed by her illness.
He's turned on by it.
An unintentional shiver runs through her body, a line of flitting pain through
her tired muscles. She swallows, momentarily lost to the world around her.
Her brother, her blood brother, had been deliberately involving himself in her
life just so he could experience her going through the process of a body
failing. All the terrible little habits of a physical, real, weird human body
going wrong – the fever and the aches and the sniffling – were pleasing to him.
Her body had been behaving as no body should, frantically trying to correct its
mistakes, glitching into a form that it should not be in, and he was watching
with dilated pupils.
It is... it is...
Gross.
Rose swallows, breathing in sharply and then coughing. She feels hot all over
again – a full-body embarrassment that makes her wince. Her fingers are
tingling and her stomach lurches.
She looks up. Dave is staring at her with fear clearly present in her eyes.
Rose shakes her head, feeling light and slightly dizzy. “So that's what it is,”
she says in a tone of voice foreign to her.
Dave flinches, fingers tightening.
Rose laughs, short and humorless, grasping for some kind of control over this
situation. God, all along? Without her knowledge? Like fuck it doesn't involve
her.
She can't think properly.
“Looking after her beloved, sick sister? I'd laugh if it wasn't kind of
horrible. But I guess getting off on your sister's weakness didn't sound nearly
so poetic, did it?”
You could hear a pin drop.
Dave stares at her, mouth open. His early worried expression had disappeared,
leaving nothing but pure shock. Rose stares, too, her brain swimming. Warnings
blare everywhere, at everything, forcing her into speechlessness. This whole
conversation has just gone terribly, terribly wrong and she can't figure out a
way to stop it without making it worse. She fears (suspects, knows) she already
has.
Dave's brow shifts just slightly, a twitch, and then furrows for real, mouth
forming a thin line. For the first time since they met up he looks actually,
genuinely angry at her. He isn't just irritated or jealous or bitter. He is
seriously pissed off.
He glares at her, curling his hands into fists. “You can be a real bitch
sometimes, you know that?”
Rose stares.
Dave stands up, suddenly, and makes towards the door. He opens it roughly and
Rose feels something big and important leap into her throat.
I'm sorry.
The words hang in her mind for a second. But a second is all it takes for Dave
to reach the door, wrench it open, and leave.
Rose stares at it, swallowing thickly.
Fuck, she thinks.
*
An hour later, the headache returns. Rose tries to distract herself by reading
again, but the combination of the insistent pressure in her head and her over-
active mind renders the activity impossible. With a frustrated grunt, she
throws the book onto the floor again, flopping face first onto the bed.
Well, let's just take stock, then, shall we? She feels like shit, her brother
is into her, she said something incredibly thoughtless, and she actually
doesn't have any idea how to respond to any of this. Oh, and just so we don't
forget, she also broke up with her girlfriend, with whom she'd been going out
for almost a year, just a month ago. Wonderful. Great job, Rose, you are
totally taking care of your life.
She doesn't know what to do. Once more, all she can bring herself to do is
fervently wish over and over that none of this was happening. Everything was
going so well for a while, but now that thin skin of happiness has snapped and
she really, really should have prepared for it somehow.
Yes, years ago, she and Dave used to occasionally play flirt with one another.
That she will admit, if reluctantly. With far more reluctance, she will admit
that at that age, 'play flirting' and 'real flirting' were hard to separate.
There is always a touch of sincerity in the most proficient uses of irony,
after all, and when you're twelve, making joking comments about being into
someone is as far as flirting ever gets, anyway.
But even if she thought it was serious at the time, it wasn't actually
seriously, after all. She Knows it, because she Worked It Out when she realised
that she was a lesbian. It was just that Dave was the sort of guy that she
thought that girls like her ought to flirt with, and when he flirted with her
she naturally flirted back to keep the upper hand in the conversation, and it
was all just about her being an insecure kid who hadn't yet had the chance to
really sit down and consider whether that was all what she really wanted.
(She daydreamed, sometimes. The pictures he sent didn't give her much to go by,
but the image she had in her head was that perfect mixture of a little overly
cocky and a little rightfully cocky. She imagined being the one to figure out
the meaning behind his words and tell what he was thinking. She saw herself
taking his hand and enjoying the way he blushed because all of this affection
shit wasn't cool, but he liked her too and so he didn't let go.)
Dave is different to everyone else she knows. Maybe a few years ago she could
easily have grouped him with John and Jade, but now, after almost three years
of separation, he's in something of a category of his own. Dave is right –
three years changes people. And even if it doesn't, three years have gone and
haven't been replaced. Memories have been created, details divulged and shared,
and they've found their footing with one another in ways that can only improve
with time. There isn't another John or Jade as there is for Dave and
Davesprite, but the relationship with Dave she has now in some ways feels as
different from that with John or Jade as does her relationship with Davesprite
compared with Dave.
She remembers him still – less and less each day. A small part of her, selfish
and scared, hopes that John and Jade have found their Dave in Davesprite. A
much larger part of her deeply worries that they have. The four months he was
gone are small change compared to three years, after all.
There's a dividing line in her life now – before and after Sburb, or more
accurate for present purposes, before and after the meteor. John and Jade may
have occupied her attention for years, but recent history will always seem more
important, and knowing that they have no idea even of stupid things from a
couple of years ago – that awful phase where she knitted for everything she
could set her eyes on, or her brief obsession with this one amazing Alternian
book she found deep in the back of a deserted library, or, fuck, her entire
relationship with Kanaya – makes her feel more than a little sad. But while the
trolls have shared that time, they can have only retrospective knowledge of her
past, as even recommending a movie she loved as a kid is inconveniently
impractical at the moment. Their experience of the Game, too, was radically
different, and even if it was just for a single day that Rose was actively
fighting it that day has had an impact on her that is impossible to quantify.
More than that, the whole cultural context is totally separate. Even if they
tried hard, they could never know quite how it felt to live on Earth in the
time and place she did.
Only Dave has been there for everything, like a steady beacon from a
lighthouse, grounding her and giving her a point of reference in the sea of
mist.
So whenever she tries to put him into some kind of helpful relationship box, or
attach a sticky 'This Is Who You Are To Me' label to his shirt, it doesn't
work. It's just too weird. What do you call someone who is your biological
brother, who was willing to risk his life for you and whom you risked your life
alongside, who has been there for you at your side for years in a way no other
human has, who you used to flirt with and are maybe, kinda, deep down, sort of
a little bit attracted to? What do you call him when he's attracted to you,
too?
Dave, who wears stupid shades day in and day out that you can't even mock
anymore because you know he knows better than anyone how ridiculous they are.
Dave, who can ramble for ten minutes about coffee, who is in a weird but
actually pretty functional alien romance/friendship with a troll, who has hairy
legs and oily skin and the body of a human boy. Dave, who will do anything he
can to take care of you, and even if there are often shitty reasons behind it,
the thought still counts. It counts for a lot.
The problem, Rose is force to acknowledge, wasn't that the term 'bisexual'
didn't feel right. The problem was that she didn't like the idea of abandoning
her queer credentials by ending up in a relationship with a man, especially if
she really was going to be the last queer human. Which is completely
ridiculous, obviously. But to tell herself that, she'd have to admit that this
was a worry for her. And to do that would be to admit that, perhaps, Dave was
an option. Who else would be? Jade's grandpa? Even with a broadened range of
possibilities than he was aware of, Dave was right - the list of prospects at
the moment is woefully low.
Even if she'd been able to admit, though, that there was an attraction, the
option was still never there. It sat there behind a locked door for which she
had no key and even if she wanted to fantasise about the contents, that was all
it would ever amount to. And quite frankly, she preferred it that way. There
were some times, she had read, that humans preferred to be constrained in their
choices, as having too great a number of things to have to decide between was
stressful.
Rose quite liked living a life where she never had to seriously question
whether she actually wanted to enter a romantic relationship with her genetic
brother.
It isn't fair. She's sick and tired and feels weak and helpless, and yet Dave
keeps forcing these things on her that she never asked for. Far from empowered
by the ability to decide, she feels ripped off that she was never given the
choice to decide whether or not she wanted to decide. Just as Dave earlier
treated her too well and made her awkward with the indignity that she couldn't
even complain, now she has been locked into only a certain number of acceptable
responses. And the one she really has to consider isn't, she thinks,
acceptable.
Though maybe, in the end, it really isn't an option after all. Maybe she's just
fucked it up badly enough that even if she does have the key, Dave is standing
in the doorway and will always refuse to move. Maybe it never even went that
deep in the first place and it really is just a kink on Dave's part and Rose is
the weird one for thinking about this at all.
She doesn't know. She doesn't know anything.
*
Rose clutches the blanket tighter around her, trying to breathe around her
shuddering as she shivers. It's hot, so hot, and it's burning up her insides
making them twist and turn and hurt, but she's dimly aware in some back part of
her mind that shivering isn't good. She has no idea if the blanket is helping
or hurting but she made a decision and she's fucking sick of making decisions
so she's sticking with it.
The floor is cold against her bare feet. Another decision. Going back now is
out of the question.
She's tired. Her head is throbbing. Her body hurts. She's hot and cold and both
are making everything worse. She can barely breathe and every time she swallows
she feels a little more like throwing up.
She couldn't sleep. She couldn't read. She couldn't watch anything. All she
could do was lie there and shift back and forth and think and every time she
thought the guilt and the worry would eat away at her until she felt even
worse.
There was only one thing she could think of to make herself feel better.
She knocks at the door, rocking back and forth and hoping that Dave will answer
soon.
He does, looking at her with an indeterminate expression.
“I'm sorry,” she says, and it's a little hard to say even now but she lets the
force of her desire to feel better push her onward. Waiting is only going to
make it worse. “I shouldn't have said that – I'm sorry.”
Dave stares at her. She blinks, her eyes watery and her vision obscured.
“Can I come in?” Rose blurts out, deliberately allowing her words out without a
filter.
“Sure,” Dave says lowly, opening the door and letting her walk in.
Rose stands in the middle of the room, looking around. Why? She never got
around to deciding exactly what she was going to do when she got here. She
hoped, she guesses, that she'd just do one thing or the other and then that
would be that.
She turns to face Dave. He's still by the door, standing stiffly.
Rose walks over, stopping only when she realises that she's standing too close.
He's really, really beautiful.
“Do you need-”
Rose takes his hand – smooth and slippery and hot and cold and skin, human
skin, fuck-
She places it to her cheek.
He stares at her, swallowing visibly. She shudders, swaying forward a little.
“I don't – care,” she says, the words tumbling out of her around the thickness
in her throat. “I don't.”
Dave shakes his head minutely, expression set with an intensity she hasn't seen
from him in years. He doesn't move his hand at all.
“Seriously?” is all he says.
Rose lets a warped smile, flicking a wet strand of hair out of her eyes. “Y-
yeah. It's – well, it's kind of fucked up, I guess? But...well. Better together
than alone, right?”
She winces – she meant to echo his words from before. But she thinks he
understands.
Dave shakes his head again, more forcefully. “You're not even into guys.”
Rose squeezes her eyes shut. “Um, maybe not. Maybe. I don't know.”
Dave is still hesitating. She can see herself perfectly in his shades, and the
image of her, pink-cheeked and hair pushed back and greasy, eyes half-lidded,
makes her energy fall through her hands to the ground for one fragile second.
“Please, Dave. I just – I feel terrible.” At first she had justified it to
herself – surely, by any objective measures, this is a terrible feeling? - but
now she doesn't care. She doesn't care if people elsewhere have suffered more
than this without complaining. She feels terrible.
“I'm your brother.”
“Why do you-” Rose purses her mouth then unpurses it to breathe hard, her toes
curling against the ground. “I don't care. I feel terrible. I just want to...”
Dave's eyebrows twitch, then he looks away.
“Please. I just need something good.”
She leans towards him. She looks terrible, but that's okay, right? Dave doesn't
mind. Maybe this is even better! Maybe this whole thing is actually good for
one thing.
Their lips touch before she's prepared. She jumps, but then leans forward
again, pressing up against him. He doesn't move and she kisses again, eyes
clenched shut. Then, for a moment, she thinks she can feel him.
And then he's stepping away. She feels like crying.
“Wh-”
“Rose.” He puts his hands up, openly pitying. She wants to punch him. “We
shouldn't.”
“Why.”
Dave snorts, an unexpectedly loud sound that makes Rose jump again. “Because
you just admitted you're feeling so bad you don't care that you're making out
with your brother?”
“That's not it-” she attempts, but Dave cuts her off.
“Sorry, I shouldn't have left you. Or not without someone else, anyway.” He
puts a hand to his forehead, apparently massaging there. “Fuck. Look, can –
I'll take you back.”
Rose steps away, feeling stupid and sick and tired and angry and upset and
everything wrong. “I can do it myself.”
Slowly, Dave lowers his hand. If she looks through the water in her eyes, she
thinks she can see him. He looks hurt.
“I'm sorry.”
Rose shakes her head, grabbing at the blanket and pulling it over her shoulder
again. She goes to say something but the words are gone now, the lump in her
throat thicker than ever. So she shakes her head again, looking down at the
ground.
Dave opens the door and she steps through without him.
*
After an hour or so, Rose falls asleep.
Some time later, she wakes up, feeling miserable but, thankfully, miraculously,
feeling better.
She thinks.
*
This time, when Rose arrives at Dave's door, the blanket is gone. Her hair has
been finger-combed to remove the worst of the bed hair and the sweat has been
washed from where it clung to her skin where it was not soaked up and cleaned
by the outfit.
She knocks on the door and when he opens she allows him a few moments to take
her in.
She's still sick. Breathing is difficult and her dramatic entrance is ruined by
the occasional loud sniff. But her mind is here – there isn't anything to hide
behind anymore.
“You wanted to know why Kanaya and I broke up.”
Dave frowns, but indulges her scene. “Yeah?”
Rose closes the door, leaning back on it. “For a while, everything seemed
perfect. We got along well, hardly fought, and had a lot of fun. But there was
always something there under the surface – something I took a long time to
realise.”
She looks him straight in the eye. “It took me months of dates before I was
ready to admit that we were going out. I only managed to kiss her for the first
time while I was drunk. You were right about all of it – it was stupid.
“But it didn't end there. I resisted the whole thing every step of the way.
Kanaya was patient all the while, but she shouldn't have needed to be.
Everything happened on my terms – when I was ready. As long as it didn't
involve me having to actually open up and be vulnerable, anyway.”
Rose licks her lips. “In the end, for all that I put on a performance, that was
all it was – deep down, I was still just the same naïve thirteen-year-old who
puts on a cynical face to avoid having to do things the hard way once in a
while. I was a shitty girlfriend.
“And that's why I broke up with her.”
Dave stares at her, expression unreadable.
“What did Kanaya have to say about that?”
“Well, she was sad, obviously – so was I – but what could we do? We weren't
working.”
Dave purses his lips, crossing his arms. “So you made a mistake. Big deal –
that happens in relationships. Did you ever try talking about it? And what
about Kanaya – did she ever try pushing you forward, or was she just always
sitting there waiting for you to do stuff?”
“No, you're not getting it,” Rose says irritably, all the more so because Dave
really actually sort of is. “I did try, but it didn't work. I hadn't changed at
all, and as long as I was sitting there in a comfortable place I never would.”
Dave waits. Rose fiddles with her sleeve.
Finally, Rose sighs. “You know what? Fine. Maybe I was too hasty. Maybe I threw
away the best relationship I could ever have. But that's not the point.”
She steps forward, settling her gaze on Dave and refusing to turn down the
intensity. “The point is that I'm not going to make that same mistake again.”
Dave blinks.
“I love you,” Rose says, the world turning surreal for just a second. “I don't
know when it happened. I had a crush on you, maybe, when we were kids, but in
the years we've been together on this meteor it's...I don't know. I don't know
what it is and I don't know whether you're just a one-off or whether I really
do like men in general and I don't know whether this is a good idea. But I do
know that I love you.”
It takes Dave several seconds to respond. When he does, his voice is low and
rough. “God, Rose – you don't know how long I've wanted to hear that.”
Rose smiles weakly. “Probably not.”
Dave snorts, then takes her forward and hugs her tightly. Rose hesitates, but
there's no going back at this point, so she places her hands delicately on
Dave's back, then grips them tightly, pulling herself closer.
He's so warm.
“Just, fuck. You know what? This is it. Birthday's done. Fuck whatever you've
been thinking about getting for me or making me or whatever – this is enough.
Just – Rose.”
He pulls back to look her in the eye.
Rose smiles. “Yeah.”
She leans in to kiss him.
*
Rose smiles to herself, curling into the little ball of warmth she has
ensconced herself into.
The ball sneezes.
Rose winces, extricating herself. “Oh dear.”
Dave's eyes stay shut, but he lets out a low groan, pushing his face slightly
deeper into the pillow, breathing heavily.
Rose sighs, stroking his hair. He looks, as the saying goes, terrible, and the
fact that she's been through exactly the same thing over the last few days only
makes her wince more. But he's here and he's warm and she can still remember
his arms around her last night and she can't bring herself to feel anything but
happy. “I'll get you something to drink, okay?”
“Thanks,” Dave mumbles.
When Rose returns he's apparently feeling a little better, or at least a little
more awake, as Dave has pushed himself into a sitting position, leaning against
the pillows by the end of the bed. For once in his flash-stepping energy-
hemorraging life Dave actually doesn't look very hungry, but he dutifully takes
the plate of toast and picks at it.
“How are you feeling?”
“You don't wanna know. Well, I guess you already do know, but honestly I don't
think that negates what I just said.”
“Oh, I think it corroborates the statement.”
Dave turns to her with watery eyes, hair sweaty. “Thank you,” he says in a way
that is undoubtedly supposed to sound strong and grateful but which actually
sounds more helpless and apologetic.
“After how pissy you got at me wondering why you were helping me you have
absolutely no right to act all guilty now,” Rose reminds him. “Especially after
yesterday.”
Dave glares at her. Rose smiles sweetly.
“Well, fuck. That just ruins all my plans for today.”
“Speaking of which...” Rose takes the package she had deftly hid under the seat
when she sat down, no doubt missed by Dave only due to his tired eyes and lack
of customary shades. “Happy birthday!”
For a moment Dave actually looks really surprised and Rose wilts. “Do you
really think I had forgotten completely? Honestly, Dave, I might not have your
time powers but some things are worth the effort to pay attention. You'd think
at least I'd remember it's the day before mine.”
“No, just...” Dave pauses on his toast to flick some hair out of his eyes.
She's gotten used to seeing him without shades now and then but every once in a
while it still takes her by surprise, his wide eyes giving him an oddly young
look. “I didn't even realise until just then. I mean, last night, but...”
“Wow. You really are sick.”
“Yeah.” He looks down at the package, taking it cautiously.
“...you really did think I didn't have anything for you, didn't you?”
“I'm opening this.”
He pulls the paper apart with relish, pausing as the present is revealed.
“Whoa.”
“Does it reached your vaulted standards?”
“Hell yes it does.”
Dave picks it up, staring at it. It's a Christmas sweater – a bit on the small
side, but then that only adds to the appeal, Rose reasons. (And, of course, she
was certain to knit a strand of hair in to ward off the dreaded Sweater Curse.)
'Happy Christmas!!' it says in brightly-coloured letters on the front atop a
worringly lop-sided cat wearing a 'cutely' tilted party hat that looks as
though it should be seconds from falling. There are patterns all over it –
stripes at the top of the sleeves, swirls further down, and roughly bauble-
shaped things on the forearms. She even managed to sew a few lights into it in
strategic places, though they aren't connected to anything and so are eternally
dark.
“It's perfect,” Dave breathes. “No seriously – just that right amount of
terrible. You didn't go too far – kept the colours traditional, no random
misspellings, it honestly looks as though it's supposed to be good-” He shakes
his head, voice serious. “It looks – so earnest.”
It would have been nice, Rose thinks, if the true intention were a level
removed. It would suit both Rose's fondness for subtle literary symbolism and
Dave's for irony if there was a complex web of intention and apparent truth, if
only those with a careful eye and great personal knowledge could really discern
the motivation behind it all. But, alas, that was not to be the case here.
Here, the apparent sincerity represents only actual sincerity.
Rose smiles. “Thank you.”
Dave puts the sweater down, frowning at her. “I can't believe you made me
believe you'd forgotten.”
Rose smiles wider. “To be fair, my timing was off,” she admits. She gestures
and he picks it up again. “The right sleeve – I never got around to finishing
it. With a few more days, maybe.”
“Well, it's amazing either way.” He sighs. “And now I gotta make sure your
present is amazing, too. Seriously, what the fuck is with that.”
“Oh, I know the feeling,” Rose says, enjoying with relish the way Dave rolls
his eyes.
“Movie?” she asks, and Dave nods, gesturing widely.
“Sounds great.”
They choose one of Dave's weird-ass combination movies and it's every bit as
entertainingly nonsensical as they expected. Dave goes quiet now and then, but
with Rose at her best, he knows that any inattention to their conversation
won't result in any kind of win for him.
But there's something about the movie that niggles at Rose. Why is it that,
even when the story is about a half-eaten sandwich avenging a slight against
his lover, the main character is still a man protecting a woman? It bothers her
over and over until, finally, she understands.
“I don't see why the other sandwich can't just avenge herself if it's really so
important.”
Dave raises an eyebrow. “Did you listen to that sentence before you said it?”
Rose turns around, finally feeling a return of a certain rush of pleasure she
hasn't felt in a long while. “Yes, I did. And why on earth stupid sexist ideas
have to come up even in a story about sandwiches fighting is my problem.”
She turns to the movie, her resolve hardening. “I know you think it's pointless
now. But if this works... if it does, we'll be making a world of our own. And I
want it to be a good one. For everyone. Not just for some people – everyone.”
She turns to him, eyes burning. He stares and then, surprisingly, smiles.
“Yeah. Me, too.”
“...meaning?”
“I'm agreeing!” Dave says, but relents. “No, just I was thinking...you have
changed. In a good way.”
Rose blinks. “Oh.”
“'Course, you were always pretty awesome, but...” He shakes his head, still
smiling. “I like this Rose the best yet, I think.”
Rose returns to the movie. When she feels a smile tug at her lips, she lets it.
*
When Rose comes back with some lunch for the two of them, Dave looks a little
better.
“It'll come and go,” she explains, placing the plate in front of him.
Dave nods. “Thought so. Well, you're definitely helping it, too.”
“Thank you.”
Dave eats quickly, a habit Rose is used to but still can't help but wince at a
little. “Mostly just my head and throat now, really.”
“Is that so?” Rose says thoughtfully, nibbling at her sandwich.
“Is that interesting?”
Rose looks him over. He's hot and sweaty and flushed, sneezing every few
minutes. He's eating more food than seems reasonable, even if Rose
intellectually knows why. He's her brother – genetically, if not by upbringing,
and whatever they've lacked in recognising each other as such while growing up
they've more than made up in the years since. It is all, frankly, kind of
gross. It's also, she admits, very attractive.
She's starting to think she understands it, now.
“Yes.” Well, there are other factors, admittedly. She and Kanaya didn't start
having sex until a few months before the end of their relationship, but they
had enough time to get into a routine. It is something that she has missed.
Dave raises an eyebrow.
Rose smiles. “I know it's early, but...there are ways to combat headache pain.”
“Like what?”
“Sex.”
Dave's eyes widen. He pauses. “Seriously?”
“If you're comfortable.”
“...you're okay with that?”
Rose frowns, cocking her head to one side. “Are you honestly doing that whole
chivalrous act again? Because unless you've been holding out on me, I'm the
only one here with any experience in that area.”
“Experience...under your belt?”
Dave sneezes. It sounds kind of adorably high-pitched. Rose sort of wants to
pet his head.
“That was terrible.”
“Thanks. But yeah, I guess.” He looks up, then around, then shrugs. “We really
could, couldn't we.”
“Yes, Dave.” She pauses. “Unless you don't want to.”
“No,” Dave says, nodding slowly. “No, no, that is definitely a thing I want to
do. That is – what you said is not what I – yeah, let's do it.”
Rose smiles, looking down at her plate. “After lunch?”
“Fuck lunch,” Dave says, reaching over to put his plate on the desk by his bed.
Rose helps him, then stands above him, looking down.
Dave's lower half is covered in warm, thick blankets and his cheeks are pink.
He sneezes again, tiredly, blinking furiously, but there's a hint of a smirk at
his lips that tells Rose all she needs to know.
She lowers her head, kissing him. It's different to kissing Kanaya in ways she
never expected – there's stubble, yes, and Dave is bigger than Kanaya, but his
human skin is far softer and more malleable, and when he puts a hand around her
upper arm, his grip is less firm. It's an odd sensation. Obviously, she thinks
to herself, she is the only person to have ever kissed both a human and a
troll, so it goes without saying that the experience would be incomparable. But
even the closest thing she can remember, comparing kissing men and women,
doesn't really work here. Yes, Dave is a man, and is both taller and broader
than Kanaya. But he is also a human, and so far weaker, and with duller nails
and teeth. Now, in particular, sick and below her, he doesn't at all come
across like a strong, handsome, dangerous man from a romance novel. He's just
Dave.
And maybe, yes, there was a small part of her that couldn't help but think that
being bi was like admitting defeat. Yes, yes – the self-professed lesbian
suddenly converts when she realises that there is a man so attractive even gay
women want him! But real life doesn't follow stupid tropes like that, and Dave
is just Dave and Kanaya was Kanaya and right now all Rose wants to do is hold
him down and make him scream beneath her.
So, with a mental motion much like waving her hand, she pushes the thoughts
away.
Rose deepens the kiss, running a hand through Dave's hair. He puts a hand on
her side, running it down until he reaches the slit of her clothing and then
presses his fingers into the bare skin there. Although the sickness is leaving,
Rose is far from recovered, and Dave's hot hand against her makes her insides
tremble and sends a line of heat up her throat.
Awkwardly, feeling inordinately the pain as she knocks her knee against the
side of Dave's bed, Rose climbs onto the bed, kneeling over Dave. She settles
into his lap, squirming against the thick material separating them. Already she
feels almost like she's going to burst out of her clothing, the tight material
over her legs pulling as she stretches.
Dave is watching her, eyes half-lidded, breathing heavily. Suddenly he sneezes
into his hand, shaking his head.
“S'rry.”
“It's fine,” Rose breathes, curling her fingers around the short sleeves of
Dave's shirt. He has already taken off his cape and undershirt earlier, so Rose
glides her fingertip down the skin of his arm and Dave shivers.
She goes in to kiss him again, sucking fiercely on his tongue, forcing his head
back with her strength. His clean hand rests flatly against her back, then
moves, turning and rubbing over it, as though her body heat is too much for
him. In short order, Rose begins to feel lightheaded, and she wrenches her head
back in an overpowering urge to breathe. Dave swallows then shudders, panting
in front of her, then sneezes again, twice.
“That was...interesting,” Rose mumbles, struggling to take in enough air
through her mouth.
Dave nods quickly, then scrambles his hand back up to the back of her head to
pull her in again.
Rose tries to pace them both, alternative between kissing his lip and pressing
her lips against his cheek and neck, his breath burning against her skin, his
sweat making her hands slip. Dave, however, always brings their mouths together
again, body shaking.
Finally, it becomes too much and Dave relaxes, allowing Rose to lick at his
neck and collarbone. Rose smiles, placing a final kiss against his jaw and then
drawing back.
“Tired?”
Dave nods, head bobbing awkwardly, and the fact that he admits it is more
telling than anything else. Rose feels a momentary surge of exhaustion
remembering her state in previous days and sympathises, cradling his head
between her hands for a moment.
“Why don't you just lie down, then, okay?”
Dave nods again, allowing it as Rose tugs at the bottom of his shirt, revealing
his chest, and removes it, and then gradually lowers him to a prone position on
the bed. He shuffles, no doubt acutely feeling the cool, soft sheets against
his bare skin. When she moves as well, the blankets – thick and woolly and
slightly scratchy - pull over his stomach and he flinches. Rose pauses.
Interesting.
Dave has closed his eyes now, body clearly tense in anticipation of what she
will do. Rose allows a wide smile to creep, unable to resist the temptation to
lick her lips. Oh, yes, this will be fun.
Rose leans over, letting the ends of her hair flick over his face. He flinches,
breath catching. She leans in slowly, placing a kiss on his forehead, then his
nose, then his lips, licking them slightly as she pulls herself back up again.
He swallows, licking his lips, biting them a little, and then goes still again,
mouth slightly parted, lips full and red.
Rose savours the sight, thinking. It would be nice to remain clothed during
this, but if she isn't going to be getting off quite soon, the heavy fabric is
going to be much more of an annoyance than anything else. Oh, well – there are
ways to make this work, too.
She leans back, sitting on Dave's lap. Oh, yes – there's something she had
honestly forgotten about briefly. Dave gasps again, and Rose rests her weight
over his crotch, pressing down on it without letting him have any friction.
Then she reaches for the base of her dress, pulling it over her head. Hearing
the rustling, Dave cracks an eye open, but Rose stops, shielding his view with
her palm.
“No, I think you should keep your eyes closed.”
“What. Why.”
“Because it's more fun that way.”
Rose waits for a reply, but when she takes her hand back Dave's eyes stay
closed.
“Good boy.”
Dave pouts slightly, and Rose chuckles, pulling her top off the rest of the
way.
The minute the cool air hits her skin she sighs, wriggling her shoulders. She
takes off her headband as well, oddly aware of the pressure against her scalp.
That done, she leans down to kiss Dave again, letting her breasts touch his
skin. He jumps, then reaches his arms up to curl around her back. She pauses,
but decides to allow that provided it doesn't go any further.
Once they've kissed for long enough, Dave panting again, Rose draws back,
circling her finger in the air. She waits; he waits. Just when he's beginning
to shift and arch upwards, Rose touches the fingertip against the soft, bloated
skin of his stomach, pressing the edge of her nail in just slightly. Dave gasps
suddenly, muscles spasming.
“Good?” Rose murmurs, letting her breath caress him like a mist as she traces a
circle around his belly button.
“J-jesus...”
Dave continues to squirm against the sheets as she traces, fingers curling and
uncurling, hips attempting to rock up against her. When she rubs a little
circle he lets out a little choked sound and presses a fist to his mouth,
flinching.
“Does it tickle?”
“Little...” he breathes out, and then downright squeaks when Rose repeats the
motion. “Rose...”
Rose doesn't let up, roaming her thumb in a wide arc so lightly his hair stands
on end, and then when he giggles again, presses in hard at that place, forcing
out a bark of laughter.
“Fuck...!”
She can imagine how he feels – hot and tired and yet with that niggling sense
of discomfort that Rose really, really isn't helping. He's just eaten and is
doubtlessly feeling a bit too full now that his symptoms are returning, which
Rose definitely isn't helping. Really, she's sort of making everything worse,
isn't she?
And yet Dave is, very clearly, enjoying himself. It's beyond attractive.
Drawing her finger away from his stomach, Rose traces a line over the hair
leading down into his pants. There she taps once against the waistband before
reaching up to his chest and kissing him again; Dave groans. Then, he sneezes
twice, making Rose let out a cough of laughter. She swallows away the pain in
her throat, instead kissing at his collarbone, then licking around his nipple.
“Ffff-fuck,” Dave groans as Rose presses an almost chaste kiss on the bud.
“That's really – fuck.”
“Experience,” Rose murmurs, and Dave groans again.
She licks at it softly, then draws back to blow air over it; Dave jumps, back
arching slightly. Rose, feeling quite pleased with the proceedings, takes it
into her mouth for a moment and sucks before releasing it again. Dave again
tries to buck up against her and Rose finally takes pity on him.
“Since you insist...”
She moves back, placing a hand over the noticeable tent in Dave's pants. He
moans something incoherent, one hand reaching out to grab at her arm and
holding it tightly. It aches a little, and Rose smirks.
Well, her throat isn't at all well enough for a blowjob to be an option, and as
fun as this is it she doesn't quite feel up to anything too strenuous, but as
Rose slowly pulls down his pants and takes his dick out from his underwear, hot
and heavy in her hand, the low growl make it clear that he is on board with her
plan.
She works him slowly at first, teasing around the tip. She may not have any
experience in this area, but she has read enough romance to have some idea of
what she's doing. Mostly. Well, Dave is enjoying it, anyway, and she can't
quite be bothered to be worried at the moment. While she strokes up and down,
she kisses him again, full on the mouth, smiling at him from close up when he
resolutely keeps his eyes closed no matter what.
“Jesus fuck, Rose, just – don't – I thought this was-”
“Oh, dear, you can still say words? Clearly I have been slacking here,” Rose
says smoothly, increasing her grip around the cock and then running her finger
around his other nipple when he gasps.
“Fgnnnnahhg.”
“Much better.”
Even as she pumps harder Dave continues to groan out unintelligible sounds,
from gasps to rumbles to high-pitched squeaks and everything in between. He is
quite delightfully vocal, Rose decides, as she runs her hand up while taking a
particularly strong suck of his nipple, causing him to cry out loudly.
He's panting harder than ever, whole body wracking each time she pumps him, and
Rose can tell he's close. She abandons the nipple (to a short sob of
protestation) and bends down close to his ear, letting her hair tickle his
cheek.
“Go ahead,” she whispers. With a loud cry, Dave comes, back arching.
Rose smirks, withdrawing upwards. Dave is breathing heavily, utterly exhausted
where he is lying on the bed, eyes still closed.
Rose takes a corner of the blanket and cleans them both up, involuntarily
licking her lips as Dave jumps when she touches the scratchy material to his
still-sensitive cock.
“...ffffuck. Uh. You?”
It takes Rose a few moments. “Oh, it's fine – it was for your sake anyway. Was
it sufficient, by the way?”
“God yes. I take it back – this is the best birthday present.”
“Oh, no. This is just the beginning.”
Dave makes a gurgling sound. Rose giggles.
“...but seriously.”
Rose hesitates. Dave is clearly very tired, but now that that's over she really
does have a rather urgent need... Well, she thinks, he would undoubtedly be
irritatingly pouty and put-out if she finished without him.
“Here.”
She takes his hand, lowering her tights and guiding it to the right places.
“Ah...yes, here.”
“There?”
“Yes...”
His fingers are clumsy and obviously he doesn't know very much about sex in
general or her body in particular, but for a guy sick and half-asleep, he's
impressively earnest. By the end, Rose cheats by mapping two of his fingers to
her own and guiding them herself, but Dave doesn't seem to care by that point.
With a choked cry, Rose ruts against his fingers a last time, finally coming.
She sits there, above him, for a few moments and then smoothly takes his
fingers away, allowing them to fall to the bed. He lets it fall, body stilling.
“Thank you.”
“N pr'bl'm,” he mumbles.
Rose pulls her tights up again, retrieving her top – now that it's all over the
air is rather cool. When she returns Dave is clearly almost asleep, his
breathing slow.
Rose smiles, pulling the blanket over him again and smoothing it. She puts a
hand on his hair.
“If you need anything, just ask, okay?”
Dave nods, and then suddenly cracks an eye open.
“I'm gonna haveta do even better tomorrow, aren't I?”
“I have always enjoyed the way the dates work out,” Rose agrees.
Dave sighs, shaking his head, but there's a bit of a smile on his face.
And if his sleeping is jerky and uneven, and if Rose is forced to go to sleep
early as well when her own sickness catches up with her, and if they don't
manage to do more for this day and the next than sleep and watch movies and
have sex...
Well, at least they're together. It's all Rose has been able to rely on in the
past, and for now, she can believe that it always will be.
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