Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/408788.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Homestuck
  Relationship:
      John_Egbert/Dave_Strider
  Character:
      Dave_Strider, John_Egbert, Bro_(Homestuck)
  Additional Tags:
      Frottage, Spanking, The_sexy_kind, Also_the_not-sexy_kind, trigger
      warning, Child_Abuse, Homophobic/Racist_slurs, Alternate_Universe_-_No
      Sburb_Session
  Series:
      Part 1 of Run
  Stats:
      Published: 2012-05-20 Completed: 2012-05-21 Chapters: 2/2 Words: 10348
****** Tension ******
by orphan_account
Summary
     (originally prompted on the kinkmeme)
     An accident while John is visiting Texas over spring break brings the
     Wrath of Bro down on the two best friends.
     Afterwards, Dave tries to make it up to him.
Notes
     Oh hey, look who's got an account here now.
See the end of the work for more notes
***** Chapter 1 *****
“What the fuck was that noise?”
It’s been a minute, maybe two, since you saw this disaster unfold in slow
motion. Ten minutes ago, a squabble broke out between you and Dave over who got
saddled with, as he called it, the “jenk-ass” controller. It quickly
degenerated into roughhousing, which resulted in Dave trying to pin you to the
floor, which led to you bucking him off to gain the upper hand, pitching Dave
sideways. Right into the cinderblocks and scrap wood that supported the TV. You
watched in horror as the flatscreen teetered forward, then backward, then
forward again, and finally backwards, miraculously not falling on Dave. Less
miraculous, however, was the jarring pop and shatter of the television snapping
in half. You were staring in shock at the wreck just before Bro’s irate voice
confirmed that yes, that had been loud enough to wake him. Dave, on the other
hand, had been scrambling to his feet.
You look up at him now, see him standing next to you, his shoulders hunched and
tight. From your angle you can see his eyes behind his shades, wide like a
cornered animal, and the moment you follow his gaze, you’re dragging yourself
to your feet in record time. His brother is standing in the doorway, six feet
and five inches of lean muscle and hangover, clad only in his boxers and
shades. His face is blank, but you can feel the stare he’s boring into Dave in
the tight-wound muscles of your friend’s posture.
“Are you fuckin’ kiddin’ me?”
Today is the third of the seven days your dad agreed to finally let you visit
Texas over spring break, and it’s the first time Bro’s attitude has gone from,
“haha, your brother’s weird, Dave!” to downright terrifying. He steps into the
room and you instinctively recoil a step. You see Dave almost do the same, but
then his jaw tightens and he lifts his chin just barely.
“Are you fuckin’ kiddin’ me?” Bro repeats himself, a little louder, a little
harder. You see Dave swallow. “Y’got any fuckin’ idea how much that cost?”
Dave doesn’t say anything and Bro’s presence seems to fill the tiny bedroom,
menacing and oppressive. Your eyes flit from one brother to the other, younger
to older. You’ve only seen them Strife once since you got here – it was
terrifying and exhilarating. This, however, this is different. This is Bro’s
will, overbearing and heavy, making your head spin and the air retreat from
your lungs. This is Dave trying to stand, tiny and battered, against the
bludgeoning force of it.
“Y’don’t even care, do ya?” Bro’s voice is deceptively even, calm, for the
threatening weight it carries. You’d probably not even notice, were it not for
the tension with which Dave currently holds himself.
“You forget how to talk or somethin’?” Bro asks, and you feel the tension coil
tight around you.
“C’mere,” Bro bites, and you feel it snap.
When Dave tries to abscond, you can’t track him. You see his figure blur,
smear, disappear, a black smudge flickering in and out of view in the small
room. Bro is another story entirely. He is movement itself, his only impression
on the environment in the swirl of air around you. In a flash they’re gone and
in a flash they’re here again, over by the door to Dave’s darkroom. Bro has
Dave by the wrist and Dave’s legs are going out under him, trying to break the
hold with dead weight.
“I said c’mere, y’little brat!” Bro’s voice has just the slightest snarl in it.
He shakes Dave for emphasis, trying to haul him to his feet when he goes
completely limp in his grasp. Dave’s shades skew. You see a lightless look in
his eyes and before you even realise it, your body’s moving. A distant part of
you knows you’re only putting yourself in harm’s way, but a stronger impulse is
telling you that this is wrong, that Dave’s done nothing to warrant punishment,
that you’re just as much to blame as he is, that neither of you are to blame
because
“It was an accident!” you blurt as your body comes to a grinding halt beside
them. The brothers’ reactions to your little interjection are polar opposites.
Dave’s head snaps up and the look he gives you, eyes bare of his shades, is so
desperate and so resigned at the same time that it makes your stomach twist
into a funny little knot. Bro, on the other hand, looks down at you slowly, his
face a blank, unreadable slate. Your mouth goes dry and you try to swallow. You
know what comes next, what you’re about to do, and oh god, you wish you could
stop it.
“I mean, it’s not like we meant to,” the words come out in a nervous, breathy
giggle and you flinch because this is not the time to laugh. He doesn’t know
that this is a nervous tic, laughing when you’re scared. He’s gonna think
you’re making fun of him and he’s just staring a hole into your forehead and
Dave’s next to you, shaking his head just barely and mouthing “no,” but you
can’t handle the silence and keep babbling into it.
“I mean,” the laughter bubbles up behind your words, “We were wrestling and I
pushed Dave into it on accident. I didn’t mean to, but it’s totally my fault,
not Dave’s, so, like, I’m really sorry! I could probably get my dad to replace
it, if you want – he’d understand if I told him what happened and-”
You freeze up when Bro releases Dave and turns his full attention to you. “You
think this is funny?” His deadpan tone makes the bottom drop out of your
stomach. Dave edges a few steps back.
You shake your head emphatically. “N-no, I just- I’m sorry!”
“You think breakin’ other people’s shit is fun?” His voice pitches up in a
cruel, lisping mockery of yours, “Oh, don’t worry, daddy’ll fix it!”
You gape at him, manage to gasp out a, “That’s not…no…”
His hand darts out, quick as a viper, latches onto your forearm. Out of sheer
instinct, you try to jerk it back. It seems either Dave never told his brother
about your pretty healthy levels of Mangrit, or he’s severely underestimated
them, because for the briefest moment you actually manage to tug Bro Strider
off his balance. You see his eyebrows shoot upwards and, as he staggers, you
try to take advantage of the moment, tugging your arm back again to wrench it
out of his grasp. His fingers clamp tight around you. He rebalances, pulls
violently at your arm, reasserting that he is, in fact, almost a foot taller
than you and still actually a far cry from your gangly, barely pubescent
physique.
But you’re still operating on fear reaction, still trying to escape, so you
pull again. He answers with a rough shake, like a dog that’s gotten a hold of
an old sock, and you feel something in your arm stretch wrong. Your mind jumps
back to a year ago, remembers when Dave broke two of his ribs but wouldn’t tell
you how, and it occurs to you that this man probably wouldn’t think twice about
dislocating your shoulder. You think of a scant few minutes ago, of Dave going
completely passive as soon as Bro caught him, and it drains the fight from you.
A quick glance in his direction reveals Dave isn’t even looking at you. Even
though he’s righted his sunglasses, you can tell he’s staring at Bro warily,
apprehensively, his hands clenched into fists, clutching the front of his
shirt. You jump when Bro changes his grip to your upper arm, leaning in close
to your ear. You’re starting to learn that the angrier Bro is, the more
emotionless his voice becomes.
“Listen, you little shitstain,” his voice is so flat it could be clinical.
“Just because your daddy don’t got the sense to beat some fuckin’ manners into
you, don’t mean I ain’t gonna.”
The words send a chill down your spine and your mouth goes dry. You look at
Dave desperately for some kind of support, but the sight of him tells you it’s
not coming. He’s drawn in on himself, head down and shoulders up, and he looks
small, he looks like he wants to disappear, he looks eight years old. When you
catch his eye, a look of profound remorse settles on his features. He shuffles,
wringing the hem of his shirt, and looks down at the floor with an expression
of deepest shame.
Bro yanks your arm, jolting your attention away from Dave. He half drags, half
shoves you in the direction of Dave’s bed. You stumble as he leads you, legs
shaking so bad they can barely support your weight. The tremor is racking your
whole body and it terrifies you because you know Bro can feel it, but you don’t
know how he’ll react. You don’t know what he’s going to do. You’re scared.
You’re scared because this is a threat you’ve never had to deal with before.
The worst thing Dad’s ever done as punishment is ground you. The most trouble
you’ve ever gotten in before was over Operation: Powder Room Powder Keg, last
year’s eighth grade grand finale. Even then, you’d known things weren’t that
serious. As your principal had boggled at how you’d managed to single-handedly
flood the bathrooms on all three floors of your middle school simultaneously,
the look on Dad’s face had told you he was doing his darnedest to not burst
into laughter. He’d taken you out for ice cream afterwards. It wasn’t a big
deal.
This was a big deal. This is the biggest deal you’ve ever been a part of and
it’s over something stupid and replaceable. You’d be outraged, affronted that
this is such a big deal, if you weren’t so terrified. This is the angriest an
adult has ever been with you. This is the first time an adult has laid hands on
you, shaken you, hurt you. This is the most horrified Dave has ever looked in
front of you. And that’s the scariest thing for you right now: to see Dave –
cool, unflappable Dave – cowering in fear of his older brother. He cringes when
Bro turns his attention back to him. You freeze when Bro speaks.
“Dave, go get my belt.”
Your limbs feel numb. You look at Dave in horror and he turns his face away
from you. His mouth twists, he fidgets, hesitates, then trudges towards his
bedroom door.
“Sometime this fuckin’ century, Dave,” Bro adds, and even though his voice is
cold, you can sense the warning in it. Dave stops in his tracks, staring down
at the floor, then blinks out of sight. Bro turns back to you and you quail. He
doesn’t say anything. The grip on your upper arm tightens. A moment later,
Dave’s standing beside both of you. He won’t look at either of you, his face
still downcast, but from the way his mouth is twisted he looks like he’s going
to cry, and a cold weight settles in your stomach when you see the leather belt
coiled in his hand. Wordlessly, he thrusts it at his brother. Bro slaps his
hand away, making Dave jump.
“You, stand over there,” he jabs his finger at the corner where Dave’s bed
meets the wall. Clutching the belt, Dave complies. “You, sit your ass down.”
Before you can react, Bro shoves you onto the bed. You fall onto your back with
a gasp and then he’s leaning over you, his hand is on the waist of your jeans,
and you panic.
“What are you doing?!” You try to throw him off, thrashing and kicking,
successfully knocking his hands away. He grapples with the arms you’ve thrown
up to defend yourself and then his open palm crashes into your cheek, rocking
your head back. It stuns you into stillness.
“Teachin’ you how to fuckin’ behave,” he snarls, using your moment of shock to
grab your shoulder, flip you onto your stomach. The motion startles you back
into action and you try desperately to push yourself off the bed. His knee digs
into your lower back and a terrified sob escapes your lips. His voice has gone
back to being flat and cold when he tells you, “Don’t make this harder on
yourself.”
His hand works its way under your hips, fingers wrestling with your fly. Your
throat closes and you buck, trying to throw him again. He answers by leaning
his full weight down onto your back.
“Oh, what,” he says as he works your pants open. “He can’t talk and you don’t
know how t’fuckin’ listen? Well, ain’t you just the cutest fuckin’ couple
ever?”
You twist your head around to look at Dave, standing in the corner at the head
of his bed. You can’t see his eyes, but you know he’s staring at the two of you
in horror, lips parted just slightly and cheeks flushed bright red in
embarrassment. The belt in his hand trembles slightly, betraying how hard he’s
shaking. Bro’s hand moves to the back of your pants, grips the waist, yanks
them down, and you let out a startled yelp. He grabs your shirt collar,
dragging you up so you’re kneeling on the edge of the bed. Your jeans bunch
halfway down your thighs and you’re shaking from head to toe in fear, in
humiliation. Bro’s fingers slip under the waistband of your briefs and you jerk
your hips away from him.
“Stop, Stop!” your voice is choked, on the verge of tears. “I’m sorry!”
“No you ain’t,” Bro grabs you and pulls you back so fast you feel the elastic
in the waist of your underpants give a little. “You ain’t even close to sorry
yet.”
He tugs down your briefs and you choke out a strangled sob, hands flying to
your front to keep yourself covered. You look over your shoulder at Dave,
biting your lower lip to keep from bursting into tears and pleading silently
for his help. He shuffles a little, uncomfortably, his flush going a deeper
shade of red, and looks down at the floor. You whimper in disappointment. Bro
moves behind you and you jump a little when his weight settles on the bed next
to you. He reaches out and grabs your collar again, and your startled reaction
pitches you off the edge of the bed. You tumble to the floor in a tangle of
half-undone clothing and hear an annoyed sound above you.
“Get the fuck over here, already,” Bro says as he hauls you up with one hand,
fingers digging painfully into your underarm. You try, briefly, to slip his
grasp by uncooperatively going limp, but he twists the skin where his hand
grips your arm painfully. “How fuckin’ old are you?” he asks irately as he
keeps dragging you up from the floor. “Y’all just woke up and decided you were
five today or what?” Your wriggle a little, still trying to break his hold, and
he tells you, “Keep fuckin’ strugglin’ like this and I’m gonna knock those ugly
teeth’a yours straight.”
He lets go of your arm to reach across your back, grabbing a fistful of shirt
and twisting your other arm behind you with his other hand as he throws you
across his knees. Reflexively, your freed hand shoots out to brace yourself but
Bro’s fingers latch onto the back of your neck. He shoves your head down until
your cheek presses into the mattress and you bend, right at the waist, over his
thigh. You’re still putting up a bit of a fight, squirming in his grasp. You
hear the huff of him exhaling through his nose in irritation. When he releases
the arm twisted behind your back you’re seized, briefly, by the urge to shove
yourself off him. Then his hand comes crashing down on your backside. Your
whole body jerks and you cry out in shock, muffled around a mouthful of sheets.
Before you can catch your breath, he strikes you again and you surge forward.
Bro’s fingers twist into your hair, wrenching your head back to halt your
escape. You let out a dismayed wail and he spanks you again. He shoves your
face back down into the mattress. Your buttocks sting under another blow.
“I ain’t even fuckin’ kiddin’, kid,” he warns, hitting you again. “The more you
keep this bullshit up-” Another whack. “The more I gotta fuckin’ learn ya.”
The muscles along the backs of your thighs cringe under his hand. You squeeze
your eyes shut, tears soaking into the sheets beneath you, and suck in a
choking sob. Bro lays a heavier slap across your ass.
“And man the fuck up!” he adds. The skin on your backside burns. “How fuckin’
old are you?” Your hips jerk forward under another smack. Bro’s fingers clench,
he drags your head back up, bending your neck at a painful angle.
“You answer when someone asks you a fuckin’ question, brat,” he hisses. His
fingers, thick and calloused, trace the fine line where the curve of your ass
meets your upper thighs, before leaving your skin and crashing back down with a
sharp slap. You suck in a high-pitched gasp and he wrenches your hair. “I said,
how fuckin’ old are you?”
“F-Fourteen!” you manage to choke out, your voice desperate and strangled. He
spanks you again.
“You’re gonna have to speak up,” he tells you, and you yelp when he thrusts his
fingers between your clenched thighs. “I don’t speak Pussy too well.”
“Fourteen!” you cry, and apparently it’s good enough, because he pushes your
head back down onto the mattress. You gasp when he pulls your legs apart, as
wide as the jeans bunched around your thighs will allow.
“So in other words –“ This time when he spanks you, you feel the rippling force
of it against your balls. You whimper into the sheets. “– too fucking old –“ He
slaps you across the backs of your thighs and the muscles in them twitch. “– to
be crying –“ You sob as the strength of the next blow rocks your hips down
against his thighs. “– like a little girl!”
Two more quick strikes make you shudder and whimper. Your one free hand curls
in the sheets next to your head, the other wedged between your shaking body and
Bro’s torso. His thumb is on the back of your neck, running lightly over the
upper vertebrae of your spine, and you don’t know if he’s doing it on purpose
or not, but it sends a shiver down your spine. Something warm is coiling in
your gut that is so completely different from the burning sting on your exposed
skin, but still connected somehow. Every time Bro’s hand lands on your bare
ass, it spikes and you feel your face flush. Each slaps makes you jerk your
hips and you can feel his bare skin against yours. One knee is jammed against
your exposed belly, but his other leg is propped firmly across your crotch.
You’re hyper-aware of the brush of his leg hair against your skin, of the way
each smack of his hand makes your naked flesh slide against his.
In a flash of horror, you realise you’re getting hard. You bury your face into
the bed with a groan of shame, wishing you could just sink into the floor and
disappear. The sound makes Bro pause and you feel your heart pounding in your
throat. You know it’s only moments before he notices and you’re terrified.
There’s no telling what he’ll do in retaliation; if he’ll come up with some
other punishment, just for this; if he’ll show Dave just to further humiliate
you. His hand is heavy, warm, almost soothing where it’s come to rest on one
raw buttock. His fingers are cupped where your cheek dips down between your
legs and the tiny squeeze he gives it before pulling his hand off you makes
your dick twitch.
He spanks you harder, making you yelp in pain and buck against him. Two more
blows make you bite your lower lip, tears leaking into the sheets and body
shaking with sobs, as you rut against his leg. He whallops you and the way the
pain churns up the arousal of dragging your naked erection over his skin makes
you nauseous. With a final slap, his hand comes to rest on your bare ass,
rubbing an almost comforting circle as he pulls your head up and leans down to
speak softly in your ear.
“Better get t’the bathroom and take care’a that before Dave sees, you kinky
little shit,” he tells you and you hear the blood in your ears as you flush in
mortification. As he sits up straight, he hauls you back onto your knees by the
hair. One of your legs slips off the bed and you almost topple sideways,
bracing it on the floor just in time. The shock sends a jolt of pain through
your abused muscles, across your raw skin. Bro grabs your right arm to steady
you and you flinch, sniffling. Your exposed hard-on is pointing at his chest
and you feel thoroughly ashamed, humiliated. You can’t tell through his shades
if Bro’s looking at your face or your dick, but he shakes you, breaks your fear
paralysis with a, “Go on, get goin’.”
You shudder, grab the bunched denim and cotton around your legs, hitching your
pants up as you stagger away from the bed. Walking hurts and your briefs chafe
your stinging skin and you whimper a little when you realise your cock is way
too sensitive to stuff back in your pants. You have to settle on tugging your
jeans up just enough to cover your abused bottom and it makes you feel dirty,
stumbling to Dave’s bedroom door with your fully-hard junk hanging out.
Behind you, you hear Bro get up off the bed, say Dave’s name. You can’t help
but stop and look back over your shoulder. You see Dave backed up against the
wall and Bro walking slowly towards him. You hear Bro tell him, “Yeah, you know
you’re in for it,” see him yank the belt out of his hand, see Dave’s arms go up
defensively. You freeze in fear.
Bro grabs a fistful of Dave’s hair, yanks him away from the wall. Dave’s shades
slide halfway off and he staggers to a stop in front of his bed.
“Get that shit off!” Bro orders, smacking the back of Dave’s legs with the
belt. You see Dave fumble with his fly, shuck his jeans and boxers down. As the
cloth pools at his ankles, Bro whips the belt across the backs of Dave’s knees
and his legs buckle. He collapses against the bed and, as Bro’s hand falls on
the back of Dave’s neck to shove him over, you decide you really don’t want to
see the rest of this. You stumble out of the room as fast as you can, yanking
the door shut frantically at the swish-crack of the belt striking Dave’s bare
skin. Your breath is ragged and panicked in your lungs. You try to calm it, try
to choke down the sob lodged in your throat, leaning against the wall for
support when your legs decide they just don’t feel like it. Through the wall
you can hear the sound of leather on skin, of Bro berating Dave.
“Thought it’d be funny, huh?” A crack, a choked noise from Dave. “Bringin’ some
smartmouthed –” A snap, Dave groaning, “No, Bro…” “– little gook faggot –”
Sharp crack, Dave’s gasping sob. “– into my house?!”
“Bro, that’s not- I didn’t- I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” Dave’s voice comes out
rushed and desperate, interjected by the whip of the belt. You whimper, curling
your fingers into fists and pressing the heels of your palms over your ears.
Chewing your lower lip, you slink off to the bathroom, pants riding down your
hips. You switch the fan light on to cover the sounds coming out of Dave’s room
and collapse against the wall. Way too sore to slide all the way down to the
floor, you let the drywall hold most of your weight. Your erection is flagging,
exposed and cold. You try to ignore it, to will it away, tucking yourself back
into your pants gingerly. You sniffle, rubbing your face. The occasional yelp
out of Dave’s room cuts over the fan and you run the faucet over the sink to
mask it. You don’t look in the mirror.
After what feels like an eternity, Bro’s footsteps pass the bathroom door, on
their way to the front room.
***** Chapter 2 *****
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
“Well, that sucked.”
Dave is scowling at the wall where his TV used to be. You’re both laying on his
bed, side by side, facedown. Dave lent you a pair of track pants to wear –
something less abrasive than denim and looser than your briefs – and they fit
well for the most part. Maybe a little long in the legs. He’s in just his
boxers and, if you turn to look at him, you can see the angry, red welts and
occasional small cuts that mar the backs of his thighs. You don’t answer him,
looking down at your hands as you pick at his sheets.
You’re mad. Well, you’re a lot of things. Mad’s one of them, but so is still
scared, and ashamed, and worried. You’d be mostly mad at Bro if he were still
here. You are mostly mad at Bro – you’re furious that he decided it was okay to
hit you, to degrade you, to make you feel helpless and ashamed. You’re outraged
that it’s apparently something he does to Dave all the time. But he’s not still
here.
Dave is. So, even though you know it’s not fair, even though you should know
better, you’re mad at him. You’re resentful towards him for not coming to your
defence, for not backing you up when you tried to put up a fight. A bitter,
irrational part of you says that if he’s supposed to be Mr. Cool Toughguy, he’s
got no business hiding in a corner like a little kid when his older brother’s
beating up his best friend.
It’s not fair and you know it. You know that if Bro was that intimidating,
scared you that witless on a regular basis, you wouldn’t be able to stand up to
him either. Still, that grumpy little voice tells you, he could have at least
warned you before you came down here.
Dave fidgets when you don’t respond. You cock your head a little to look at him
sidelong. He messes with the sheets, twisting and untwisting them in his hands,
and from your angle you can see his profile behind his sunglasses. His eyes
look worried and tired. They’re bloodshot and his lips are a little swollen,
his cheeks blotchy red from crying. He looks down at the bed, then up, mouth
working to form words that aren’t there, then he gives up and looks back down
at the sheet bunched in his hands. When he looks over at you, and sees you’re
watching him, he gives a little start. Pursing his lips, he angles his head in
a way that you know means he’s looking back down at the bed.
“Look, I’m sorry,” he says, his tone defensive. It irks you and makes you
bristle. You look away from him, tugging on the sheet.
“Don’t apologise if you don’t mean it, Dave,” you tell him softly, surprising
you both with your bitter undertone. Dave frowns down at the bed.
“No, I do,” he insists and something in his voice makes your stomach clench.
“It’s just…you’re my best bro, so I got really stoked on the idea of you comin’
down to visit and I guess I convinced myself it’d be all right. Y’know? I told
myself it’d be okay, I’d make sure we didn’t do nothin’ to make him mad, and
even if we did, he’d only go after me, y’know? I didn’t think he’d-” Dave sucks
in a breath and his voice cracks. “I just thought I could hide it from ya. I
thought, y’know, if you did find out, I could just deal with you knowin’ what a
fuckin’ pussy I am. I didn’t think he’d go after you too, y’know? I didn’t
think he’d say all that fucked shit about ya. I just – I wanted to see you in
person for once. You see how it is, man – just me and Bro in this shithole. No
one else in the neighbourhood fuckin’ talks to us. No one’s parents let them
come over cuz we’re the fuckin’ weird ones!”
You see his fists ball in the sheets and feel your anger with him ebb. “I just
wanted one fuckin’ friend,” he bites through clenched teeth, “and he won’t even
let me have that!”
“Dude,” you interject gently. “I’m not gonna stop being your friend just cuz
your brother’s a dick.”
Dave’s lips form a hard, thin line when he looks back up at you. You offer him
a weak smile.
“Just…maybe you can come visit us next time,” you tell him and he scoffs, but
cracks a half-hearted smile nevertheless. The two of you regard each other for
a long moment before Dave turns away. Again he angles his head so you can see
his eyes behind his shades. You doubt he realises he’s doing it - he looks
distracted, eyes turned down to the bed again and lips parted slightly, as if
trying to find something else to say. You nudge him with your shoulder.
“You’re not a pussy either, dude,” you tell him, trying to be reassuring. To
your dismay, however, you see his eyebrows draw down in a scowl and a pained,
sad look pass over his eyes. He sneers and sniffs disdainfully, scratching his
chin.
“You got no idea, bro,” he says with a tone of resignation. “He may be an
asshole, but when he’s right, he’s right.”
“Thanks,” you say, slightly miffed. Dave’s head jerks around and he gives you a
startled look.
“I didn’t mean-” he protests. “I was just talking about me, man! That shit he
said about’cha- I mean, he don’t even know ya, how’s he gonna talk shit?”
You fix him with an exasperated look. Dave looks a little desperate.
“You’re not- I mean, it’s not like you-” he halts a breath, then blurts out, “I
don’t think your teeth are ugly!”
You can’t help it. You snort, trying to suppress it, but a grin splits your
face and you burst into laughter. Dave makes a face like an affronted cat and
his ears turn red. The sight doesn’t help and you have to bury your face in the
bed as you laugh harder.
“Shut the fuck up, man,” Dave punches your shoulder. “I’m over here tryin’a
make you feel better about your cuteass smile and you’re gonna laugh at me like
that!”
You take a giggling, gasping breath, trying to calm your laughter. It takes a
moment to process Dave’s words. “Wait…what?” you ask, looking up at him as
little flurries of snickers still escape you. “Did…did you just say my ass was
cute?”
Dave slugs you again. “That is not what I said and you know it, Egbert!” His
face is bright red and it sends you back into a fresh fit of laughter.
Something you’ve learned over years of videochat is that, for all his talk and
cool-guy showboating, the first thing to betray Dave when he gets flustered is
his pale, pale skin.
“No…no…” you gasp out, chuckling and propping yourself up on your elbows.
Dave’s defences are down and you’ve got to exploit the chance to embarrass him
while you’ve still got it. “Keep telling me how much you love my ass.”
Dave stares at you, his mouth forming such a thin, hard line his lips are
almost invisible. You raise an eyebrow at him challengingly, tossing him a
crooked grin. His expression slackens a little, lips relaxing as his Adam’s
apple bobs once, and you’re just about to chalk yourself up a win for your
Gambit when he surprises you. Fingers curl into the front of your shirt, pull
you sideways, off-balance. Dave’s rolling with the motion, onto his side as he
drags you towards him, and then he presses his lips against yours and you
forget how to breathe.
It occurs to you that you should probably close your eyes. You’ve kissed
precisely one person before, and that was almost a year ago, during your eighth
grade class trip to Camp Burton. It was after curfew, behind the girls’ cabins,
and she had braces and you didn’t, and it was awkward, but you definitely both
closed your eyes. You think just staring Dave down while he’s got his mouth
pushed expectantly up against yours is probably way more awkward, but you’re
frozen in shock. You’re studying everything you can see at this close range -
his blonde lashes against his skin, visible through his shades; the curve of
his weirdly thick eyebrows; the heavy smattering of freckles across his cheeks
- and then you realise he’s pulling away. His eyes are downcast and his mouth
is twisted in an embarrassed, disappointed expression. You remember the girl
who stopped talking to you after those awkward few minutes in the woods, after
dark, and you’re horrorstruck by the thought that this might make Dave stop
talking to you too.
Dave starts mumbling, “Sorry, man,” but you’re already surging forward to kiss
him again. You miss by about a mile, nose bumping into his cheek as he gives a
surprised little jerk. Both of your glasses tangle with each other and Dave
squawks, “Jesus, John, what the fuck?!” and you have to hold still while he
sorts out wire and plastic frames. You feel your face get hot and you blink a
little as Dave pulls off your glasses.
“Not fair,” you mutter when the world goes fuzzy and everything but Dave’s face
loses definition. His fingers brush your cheek tentatively. You grin at him,
surprisingly at ease, surprisingly honest when he asks you if it’s okay and you
tell him, “Yeah.”
Like kissing your best friend is just a normal thing; like kissing a boy isn’t
something you never thought you’d do. You think maybe it’s because you’re all
shaken up. Maybe you’ve just gotten to a point where you can’t feel any more
scared and nervous than you already are, and timid, warm touches are just
enough affection to do you in. This time, when Dave leans in and his lips brush
over yours, you actually respond. Your eyes slide shut and your mouth moves
against his, both of you still a little clumsy with inexperience. His fingers
graze a line along your jaw and the catch of chapped skin on his lower lip
sends a tingle from your scalp down your spine. It’s not much different,
really, from the other time you did this. It’s a little less hurried, a little
more comfortable. But there’s still the edge, the little thrill that you could
get caught.
Dave wriggles closer to you. His hands plunge into your hair and his tongue
swipes your bottom lip and you gasp. He’s holding himself with a desperate sort
of tension. You can feel it in the way he gingerly bumps his knees against
yours, the way his shoulders don’t relax as he cups your face in his hands. You
realise he must be more nervous than you are, even though he’s trying to put up
a strong front by taking the initiative, and you decide, when he moves to
deepen the kiss, that the best way to put him at ease is to show a little more
enthusiasm. The second time his tongue traces a slow path along your lower lip,
you slide an arm around his waist, pull your two bodies closer together and
flick your tongue out to meet his. You swallow the choked sound Dave makes and
push into the kiss, your tongue pressing past his lips and your teeth knocking
lightly against his. One of the hands in your hair clenches tighter while the
other slides down your neck, your arm, grasps just above your elbow and pulls
you closer as Dave opens his mouth more to let you in. Your tongue slides
against his. You feel his back arch under your palm and the rumble of his groan
against your lips. It sends another shiver down your spine.
Dave breaks the kiss with a gasp, drops his head against his arm. His shades
dig into your cheek and you pull away with a chagrined frown.
“Seriously, dude,” you tell him, breaking into a half-smile, marvelling again
at how easy this is. “It’s not fair if you keep your glasses on.”
Dave exhales through his nose. You see his jaw work as he sucks his teeth, then
he mumbles a low, “Fine.”
When he slips his shades off, he has to lean over you to set them out of harm’s
way. On impulse, you slide your hand up his spine, pinning his chest against
yours. He snaps his head down to look at you, eyes wide in shock, and you can’t
help but crack a broad grin because you knew it! You’d already guessed, from
glimpses of his profile, but it’s so much more impressive to see Dave’s bare
face confirm that he does, in fact, have bright red eyes.
“So cool,” you murmur, staring up at him. Dave purses his lips and looks down
at your chest, ears turning pink again.
“Don’t wet your panties about it, Egbert, Jesus,” he mutters. You thump him on
the back. He looks up at you and you grin. His hand has settled on the back of
your shoulder and it’s not a big deal. His fingers are twisted in your hair and
nearly his entire body is flush up against yours, and it’s not a big deal. Dave
peers at you skeptically as you beam at him.
“You’re really okay with this, huh?” he asks. “Your bro starts mackin’ on ya
and you just roll with it like it ain’t no thing?”
You shrug the question off. “I dunno,” you tell him softly, studying his face.
“I mean, I guess I should be weirded out cuz we’re both dudes, or something,
but I’m…not.”
Dave fixes you with an inscrutable, almost suspicious look. “This isn’t some
kind of joke, is it?” he asks, narrowing his eyes at you. You lift your hand
from between his shoulders and smack the back of his head.
“Do I look like I’m kidding around here, Dave?” you scowl at him. He snorts.
“You sure are grinnin’ a lot, doofus,” he says with a cocked eyebrow. His hand
leaves your arm, comes to rest on your hip, and your stomach does a small flip
in response. When he adds, “And quit hittin’ me, man,” he swats your thigh.
It’s a light strike, but it lands close to tender, abused skin, and you jump
with a small gasp. Dave’s eyebrow quirks higher and you see the corner of his
mouth twitch in a smirk. His hand runs across your thigh, then leaves your leg
entirely. You grab a fistful of his collar.
”Don’t,” you tell him warningly. The smirk breaks across Dave’s face and his
hand descends against your thigh with a crack. Your hips jerk and you suck in
another sharp breath. The sensation makes you light-headed, but also reminds
you of an hour ago. It makes you think of the slap of a larger hand on your
bare ass, the touch of thick fingers between your thighs, the feel of dragging
your hard cock over warm skin. You don’t know if you should be turned-on or
ashamed - you feel both and it confuses you. You press your face against Dave’s
chest with a pant, try to chastise him, but when you say his name it sounds
more needy than it does scolding. Dave’s small chuckle vibrates against your
cheek and the squeeze he gives your thigh makes your dick ache.
“You got a boner when he was spankin’ ya, didn’tcha?” his voice is husky and
rumbles a little when he asks the question. You look up at him in horror and
see him biting his lower lip. When your eyes meet his, his lips part and he
looks away. You see him swallow.
“It’s cool, man,” he tells you, running his hand up your thigh to your hip. “It
happens.”
You shudder under his touch, caught again between embarrassment and arousal.
“Wait, you mean…you too?” You squint at Dave. He shrugs and gives you a blithe,
resigned nod.
“Sometimes, yeah.”
His hand slides past your hip and comes to rest on your lower back, pulling you
even closer. You both have to rearrange your limbs so you fit together. One of
his legs nudges between your knees and you fold your lower lip under your
teeth, thoroughly distracted by the fact that he is mere inches from
discovering how hard you are and if he’d just lift his leg a little more, it’d
be his thigh you were rutting against.
“Hey, Eggs…” his low voice and the pet name do funny things to your stomach.
You feel your face heat up again and, still chewing your lower lip, you flick
your eyes up to meet Dave’s. You watch the cocky, assured look that meets your
gaze disintegrate into a dumbstruck expression. Dave’s lips part slightly, his
tongue darts out across them.
“Shit man, that ain’t even fuckin’ fair,” he mutters, his voice nearly a groan.
“C’mere.”
Before you can respond, his fingers are flexing against your scalp, pulling
your head towards him as he crushes his lips against yours. It sends a thrill
of pleasure through you, makes your dick twitch. You squeak in surprise,
prompting the hand at your waist to drop lower, cup your ass, squeeze. Aching
pain flares down the backs of your thighs, making you gasp against Dave’s
mouth, and he thrusts his tongue past your parted lips in response. He uses his
grip to drag you across those last, precious few inches between you two and
then he’s groaning into your mouth. For the second time in the past fifteen
minutes, you forget how to breathe. Your erection is grinding against Dave’s
and he is just as hard as you are. His hips rock against you and his tongue
lashes against yours and you answer his groan with your own. Only two thin
layers of fabric lay between your cock and his, and you can feel the shape of
it, the ridge of the head dragging against you, when he rolls his hips. You
wonder, for the briefest moment, where he learned to move like that, before his
hand swats lightly at your behind and your brain short circuits. Your hips jerk
towards him and you break the kiss with a gasp, head falling back into his
other hand.
His fingers slide off your scalp, trace a path from the nape of your neck, to
the side of your throat, to the collar of your shirt, pulling it out of the way
to give Dave’s lips room to attach themselves to your skin. He sucks at the
hollow of your throat and you groan, your hips rocking to meet his. Both your
hands ball into fists, one in his shirt and one in his hair, and Dave’s breath
catches.
“Harder,” he mouths against your skin. He kneads your ass under his palm,
making your abused muscles ache, and when you don’t know how to respond, he
rolls his head a little, pulling the hair you’ve got threaded in your fingers.
Eyebrows raised in mild surprise, you give it an experimental tug. Dave’s hips
surge against yours and you hear the hiss of his breath through his teeth. You
tug again and when Dave bites out another “Harder,” you break into an impish
grin. With a quick twist of your wrist, you wrench his hair, rewarded with a
choked, stuttered sound that comes from the back of Dave’s throat. His teeth
come down on your collarbone and he slaps your ass again and you jump. It’s
still more playful than it is violent, but it gives you that weird twist of
guilty pleasure nevertheless, so you pull his hair and tuck your chin to look
down at him with a chastising, “Dave!”
He looks up at you, panting. His lips are kiss-bruised, and his eyes are thin
rings of red around lust-blown pupils, and oh jeez, you did not just think your
best friend looks fuckable.
You totally did.
His eyes are slightly unfocused and his body is warm against yours, one ankle
hooked around the back of your calf. Every time he rolls his hips, you can feel
the bulge of his hard-on through his boxers, rubbing soft cloth and firm heat
over your own. You must be gawking, because that sly little grin lights his
face again. His fingers curl into the front of your shirt and he drags you down
into another kiss. He sucks your lower lip into his mouth, scraping his teeth
lightly along the inside of it, sending sparks across your scalp, down the back
of your neck, straight to your crotch. You remove your other hand from Dave’s
shirt, plunge it into his hair as well, clutching and twisting fistfuls between
your fingers. Dave answers with sloppy kisses and an eager hand groping your
rear. You rock your hips, not nearly as good at it as he is, but still getting
the job done with the pressure, then drag, then pressure again of grinding your
dick against his.
[http://24.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_lwuk32nM5f1r1adxlo1_1280.png]
The hand in your shirt slides back up your neck, cups your face, as the one
massaging your butt skids up to the hem of your borrowed track pants. Dave
hitches your shirt up a little, slips his fingers under it, and his palm is
warm on your bare skin as he traces a path over your hip. It comes to a rest at
your belly, pausing at the waistband of your pants, silently asking permission.
It’s very gentlemanly, and probably taking a great deal of self-control, you’re
sure, but you are way too hard to put up with hesitation. You protest with an
annoyed sound in the back of your throat and an encouraging tug of Dave’s hair.
An annoyed huff blows against your cheek and then Dave’s hand plunges into your
pants and you’re honestly surprised you don’t cum the instant you feel the
first fingers that aren’t your own curling around your cock. You do break the
kiss Dave has you caught in, though, sucking in a shuddering gasp. He gives you
a slow, experimental pull, his hand angled awkwardly, and you shudder, twist
his hair in your fingers, making him bury his face in your shoulder and groan,
muffled by your shirt. You breathe his name and you can feel his ragged breath
through your shirt. His hand slips out of your pants, but before you get more
than a grunt of protest out, it’s tugging at the waistband, shoving back in to
grab a handful of your bare ass. You jump. A little. Dave cranes his neck up to
kiss you again, hitches your pants off one hip, moves his lips against yours
when he mumbles, “Help me out with this, man.”
His hand leaves your cheek, fingers brushing your wrist as he raises it to
guide one of yours. You let him lead you down, wriggling as you grasp the side
of your pants that you’re laying on and help him shuck them down to mid-thigh.
He kisses you through the whole process, his lips sliding against your lips,
his tongue flicking playfully at your tongue, distracting you as you wiggle the
rest of your body away from his, just a bit, to get free of your pants. His
hand moves to cover your exposed erection and you push towards his warm palm
automatically. Teasing fingers graze your shaft and you thrust forward again,
but the heat of his hand remains maddeningly distant. After the third fruitless
attempt, you feel Dave’s grin break against your lips. With a growl of
frustration, you give Dave’s hair a final yank before dropping your hand to his
backside and using the rock of his hips as momentum to drag him towards you.
You realise the move is a little too eager when your dick gets pressed against
Dave’s hip uncomfortably and you hear him hiss through his teeth as his body
stiffens. He dislodges his hand from between the two of you to grab your wrist,
gingerly lifting your grip off his ass. You flush with embarrassment, realising
your mistake as he edges back a little.
“Jesus fuck, John!” Dave gasps, moving your hand to his hip. “Have a little
respect for the state of a guy’s ass before you manhandle it.”
“Sorry,” you mutter sheepishly. Dave’s hand runs up the length of your forearm
and he scoots back a little.
“Tell ya what,” he says in a low voice, resting his forehead against yours.
“You wanna get all handsy, why don’tcha pull it out for me?”
You swallow, your mouth going dry and slack. There it is again – that little
part of your brain commenting on how completely sexy Dave looks. His freckles
are awash in a red blush and his lips are parted just enough to let his panting
breath touch your face. Blonde lashes brush his cheeks and you follow his
downcast gaze to the space between your bodies, to where his skinny legs are
entwined with yours. You see his erection straining against his boxers, you see
your own laid bare against his thigh, and then his hand is guiding yours over
cotton and elastic. Licking your lips, you tentatively run your fingers over
him. Dave exhales sharply through his nose, his head slumping against his
shoulder. There’s a certain surreality to the whole thing that arrests your
attention, keeps your eyes glued to your hesitant gestures over your best
friend’s cock, only lets your brain fixate on Gosh, this sure is a different
angle than you’re used to! The breathy noise Dave makes when you drag your
knuckles down the side of his shaft is encouraging, and you sift your fingers
through the fabric of his boxers until you find skin. His hips cant into the
touch and you slide your whole hand past his fly, cradling his cock in your
palm as you work it out of its cloth confines. It’s warm and heavy in your
hold, and that somehow cements the reality of the situation. You can’t help but
take a moment to compare, to note that he’s thicker than you – way…thicker –
but also not quite as long. The flush of his dick is more obvious than yours,
darker at the head, and the ridge along his shaft is more starkly defined.
“You tryin’ to burn a hole in it, Eggs, or what?” There’s an obvious tone of
amusement in Dave’s voice, though his face is heavy-lidded and clouded with
lust. His thumb swipes over your bare hip and you look back up at him, gulping
down a breath. He cracks you a crooked little grin.
“Here, just…” he drops his eyes back down to the space between you two. The
hand on your hip pushes lightly, angling you a little away from Dave, while he
worms his other past your belly to where your opposite thigh is pressed against
his. He runs his fingers across your hard-on again and you bite your lip, eyes
sliding shut, as he curls a loose grip around it. You feel Dave shift next to
you on the bed, gasp when warm, soft skin joins his fingers in their movements
over you. Dave drags the length of his dick along yours, steadying contact with
the light grasp of his fingers. A small moan escapes you and you let your head
fall back on the bed, feel Dave lean in, run his tongue up your throat. It
makes you gasp again, jerk towards him, against him. His hands steady you and
you feel the shifting of the mattress, hear the rustle of cloth, as Dave rocks
his hips slowly, deliberately.
The touch of his cock on yours is teasing, almost aggravatingly so, with just
less than enough pressure to get you off. The brush of warm flesh and broad,
calloused fingers keeps you hard, wound tight and panting, and even though
there’s a part of you that’s firing off alarms and screaming bail, bail now -
this is absolutely, without a doubt the gayest thing you could possibly do,
ever - every other part of you is shoving that urge down because it feels so
good.
The hand on your hip slips around your waist. Dave pulls you back against
himself, angling his hand to wrap halfway around both of you as you grind
against him. The increase in friction makes your hips buck and a low whine pass
your lips. You hear Dave groan in response and when you bring your head back
upright, you’re greeted by the sight of his flushed face and downturned eyes.
His lips are parted, panting as he watches himself work both of you, watches
your dick rubbing against his. A tiny furrow knits itself between his eyebrows
and you lean in to kiss the spot. He bumps his head up into the touch, briefly,
then cranes his neck up to kiss you again, his hips rocking against yours. He
swallows the needy sound you make and draws back to catch his breath.
“Use your hand too,” his voice is low, rough, breathless. You swallow and
shudder and rut against him. You work your hand between the two of you to join
his, fingers brushing his wrist, closing the circuit around your two erections.
You thumb his slit, smearing precum over the head of his dick, and Dave groans
loud. His face drops to your neck and the hand on the small of your back slides
lower.
His lips, his teeth, fasten on your collarbone, and even though you know it’s
coming, the slap on your ass makes you jerk under his touch. Dave drags a hard
stroke up both of you as your own grip tightens and it’s almost enough to send
you over. Before you can react, before you can even catch your breath, he
spanks you again. His fingers rubs your aching flesh, dipping just briefly into
the cleft where your ass meets your thighs, and the third strike that follows
does you in.
With a sharp, choked sound, you jerk in short little thrusts into both of the
hands wrapped around your cock, feeling the first pulse of your orgasm spurting
between your stomachs. Jizz, hot and thick, runs over your knuckles, slicks the
palm of Dave’s hand and eases the friction where your cock twitches against
his. His fingers push yours away, make room for themselves. They stroke faster,
more desperately, and you ride it out, fucking his hand, his dick. You press
your face into his hair, mouthing it as you gasp, unthinkingly threading your
fingers in it, and when you clench and twist it, Dave’s body goes rigid. His
long groan is muffled against your skin, but you feel his dick throb against
yours when he hits his peak. His cum is hot on your skin, sticky where your
bellies meet, where your thighs touch, trickling down your dick and mixing with
your own. Your hips sway in time with his, your waning erection sliding against
Dave’s still pulsing cock in the viscous mess pooled between your legs and his.
You shudder with released tension, moaning heavily into Dave’s hair. Your head
is heavy and you smile against his scalp when you hear and feel the answer of
Dave’s contented groan against your shoulder. When you try to pull your hand
out of Dave’s hair, strands knot and cling to your fingers and you freeze in
dawning mortification. Dave’s chuckle vibrates against your clavicle.
“Man…did you seriously wipe your jizz in my hair?” his voice is rough and you
feel the heat of an embarrassed blush rush up the back of your neck. He gives
one of your bare cheeks a squeeze as his hand slides off your butt.
“Maybe,” you mumble, moaning a little at the sensation. His hand grazes your
hip, leaves your skin, and you look sidelong at the bed. “I didn’t mean to.”
You feel his fingers close around your wrist and slowly lift your hand from his
hair. Soft, wet heat envelops your first finger and with a gasp you look back
at Dave to see him drawing the digit slowly into his mouth. Panting, you watch
as he diligently cleans what’s left of your cum from each of your fingers and
your hand, your hips gently canting towards his at the sight. By the time he
finishes, you’re gaping, and when he looks back up at you, his cheeks light up
red. It makes your head spin and your eyelids feel heavy and you bite your
lower lip.
Dave leans in to kiss you again, but in an instant your brain recoils at the
thought of where his mouth’s just been and you jerk your head back without
thinking. He freezes and you feel your stomach drop. Something goes dull in his
eyes. Dave looks down at your chest. An awkward silence stretches between you,
broken by a flat, short laugh from Dave.
“Right,” he says in such resignation that you feel your chest tighten. “Sorry,
bro.”
He lays your hand on your shoulder, releases your wrist as he folds in on
himself. “If you wanna hit me or whatever,” his voice is a flat, emotionless
pitch, “that’d be fair.”
You stare at him for another long moment. Your mind is fogged in a post-
orgasmic haze, but you think you still mostly get what makes your best friend
tick and you feel bad for hurting his feelings. Even if you didn’t mean to.
Even if you really were just kinda grossed out by the idea of kissing someone
who had just swallowed your cum. Dave shifts his legs against yours. They’re
sticky with your shared orgasm and the reminder doesn’t help the situation.
Your brain’s already burnt out on the fact that you just got off with your best
friend in the world, and that fooling around with another guy wasn’t that bad,
and also Dave’s maybe more experienced than you? You mostly just wanna go to
sleep, curl up into the heat of Dave’s body and let your brain reboot. But now
Dave’s withdrawing from you, and it’s your fault, and you want him to be okay
again, so you bop him on the shoulder lightly.
“Why, you want me to hit you or something?” you tease, cracking a hopeful grin.
After a beat, Dave rattles out a shaky laugh and his eyes meet yours again. You
beam and even though there’s a brief instance where he winces almost
imperceptibly, falters, a crooked smile manages to stay on his face. He shifts
his shoulders, wiggles closer to you.
“Nah,” he draws the syllable out, resting his head on your shoulder, face
turned in towards your neck. His hand glides back down past your hip, squeezes
your thigh when he adds, “I think that’s more your trip.”
“Dude!” you gasp in embarrassment, feeling him grin against the crook of your
neck.
“I ain’t judgin’” he snickers.
“That’s not even- I don’t-” you growl in irritation, unable to find the right
excuses. Dave’s laughter gets a little fuller and, out of sheer frustration,
you grab a fistful of hair and yank. Rather than having the desired effect of
shutting him up, the move merely transforms Dave’s chuckle into a rumbling
groan that sends all sorts of shivers through you. He follows it up with a slap
on your ass and you grip his hair as your hips jerk towards him.
“Ready for Round Two, then?” he looks up at you with one eye, biting his lower
lip, eyebrow cocked mischievously. You drop your head to bump your forehead
against his, grinning as your eyes slide shut.
“I’m ready for a nap,” you inform him. Dave answers with an assenting grunt. He
shifts, rolls halfway onto his back, away from you. His hand leaves your hip
and you grumble in protest, wriggling closer to him. You feel him shift with
the movement of his arm as he paws around on the bed behind him and you pillow
your head on his shoulder, nuzzling your face into his neck. His other arm
curls around your shoulders, pushes fingers into your hair, against your scalp.
You hum into the warmth of his skin, slipping steadily closer to sleep and
further from the ability to care about implications, or consequences, or even
messes.
“This is gonna be nasty when we wake up, man,” Dave’s voice vibrates against
your cheek and you can’t even care that you’re gonna wake up sticky and
probably clammy. You answer him with a contented grunt and a wiggle of your
shoulders and your hips. Dave chuckles softly again. He pulls the finally
recovered blanket over both of you. It’s coarse and thin and you don’t care,
but you do make one last mental note to maybe get Dave a new one for his next
birthday. Dave’s free arm joins the other to wrap around your shoulders and
everything is warm and comfortable. Just before you fall asleep you feel the
press of Dave’s lips on your forehead.
Chapter End Notes
     art by kilehye.tumblr.com
End Notes
     don't mind me, just breaking this up a bit
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